Lost and Found
by KCGryffindor
Summary: It's two years since the war ended and Hermione and Ron are living at the Burrow but they're about to take action that will promote their moving out. Companion story to Sincerely, Harry James Potter.
1. Chapter 1 A Statement

I

A Statement

Hermione Granger rolled over in her bed and squeezed her eyes shut in a vain effort to fall back to sleep. After a few minutes it became apparent she was going to, yet again, lose the battle so she sighed and opened her eyes. Moonlight filtered into the room through the window and cast a shaft of light across the foot of her bed.

Sighing again, Hermione threw back the blankets and got out of bed. She stepped into her slippers while pulling on her dressing gown and then made her way to the door. Hermione was just outside her room when she encountered the bulky form of Angelina Johnson-Weasley. Even in the middle of the night it was difficult to move around the Burrow without running into someone.

"Another midnight jaunt to the bathroom?" Hermione asked, smiling.

Angelina groaned. "The minute I even _think_ about falling asleep this kid starts dancing on my bladder." She put a hand on her swollen belly and continued, "I swear, I can't wait for him to make his appearance!"

Hermione's grin broadened. "You're that sure you're having a boy?"

"Are you kidding me?" Angelina asked, tilting her head bemusedly at Hermione. "You know this family heavily favors boys."

Hermione and Angelina both chuckled quietly. They all knew the surprise would be a Weasley baby that was born a girl. Ginny Weasley had been the first girl in several generations and many were betting she'd be the last for at least a few more.

When Angelina spoke again it was more somberly. "Up to check on Ron?" she asked.

Hermione's smile faded and she nodded. "The nightmares aren't as frequent as they used to be and he probably doesn't need me to check up on him every night anymore but it's just become habit, you know?"

Nodding, Angelina replied, "He still relives it?" Everyone in the family knew what Ron's nightmares were about. After the war he'd wake up every night screaming his brother Percy's name over and over until Hermione arrived and took him in her arms where Ron would sob while Hermione whispered words of comfort to him. Eventually he would calm down enough to fall back to sleep, entwined with Hermione as he wouldn't let her leave.

"Yes," Hermione answered quietly. "I think he always will."

"Of course," said Angelina. "But he does finally seem to be finding some peace with it."

They both grew silent and thoughtful in the dark hallway for a moment. Then Angelina winced and rubbed her belly. "I wouldn't be a bit surprised if there was a blast-ended skrewt in there instead of a baby," she muttered. "It would be just like Fred." Looking at Hermione she added, "Excuse me," and waddled off to the bathroom.

She had just reached the door when she turned briefly and said, "Hermione?" When Hermione looked at her Angelina continued. "I think Ron needs you more than you realize. And I think you need him just as much." With that Angelina disappeared into the bathroom and the door shut with a gentle _snick_.

Hermione continued on her way down the stairs to the living room where Ron was sprawled out on the lumpy sofa with one foot dangling off the side. His head was thrown back and he was snoring lightly. There wasn't even the hint of a nightmare.

As she stood watching him, Ron twitched in his sleep and rolled onto his side. Hermione was always amazed he never fell off the sofa except for when he had some particularly strong nightmares. Once he'd hit his head on a table next to the sofa and the offending piece of furniture had since been moved.

Ron had been sleeping in the living room of the Burrow for just under a year. When Bill and Fleur's son, Girard, had been old enough to be moved out of his parents' bedroom Ron had volunteered to give up his small attic room for his nephew. Since Hermione had been given Percy's old room the only other that remained vacant was Ginny's room which stood defiantly empty in expectation of her one day returning home from St. Mungo's. Mr. Weasley wouldn't allow an unmarried couple to officially share a room in the house, particularly since Mrs. Weasley would have expressly forbidden it. Instead, Ron had just moved his belongings to Hermione's room and slept downstairs. He often joked that it was better this way anyway as he was much closer to the kitchen.

Instead of curling up in the little space Ron wasn't taking up, as was her habit, Hermione left him sleeping and headed for the kitchen. Getting a glass out of the cupboard she filled it with water and took a few sips. Her thirst sated, she took the glass to the big table where she muttered an incantation and waved her hand over one of the candles that immediately sprang to life.

Hermione sat down at the table where she fell into a deep reverie. While she had always kept to a reliable schedule and preferred routine to chaos she was beginning to feel like she was in a rut. Those around her were moving on with their lives and this point had been brought home earlier in the evening when, over dinner, Bill and Fleur announced they were again expecting. Hermione had been very happy for them, of course, but it was another reminder to her that her own life had become stagnant. She loved Ron very much and couldn't imagine not spending the rest of her life with him but Ron seemed to be content with things as they were while Hermione wanted to get married and start a family like those around her were doing. Her heart knew Ron would ask when he was ready and she would admit they were still quite young but her brain said she was ready now and questioned why Ron wasn't and would that day ever come?

Hermione's mind drifted to the other Weasleys. While Fred and Angelina lived at the Burrow, George was currently living in a flat over Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and simultaneously dating Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet. He claimed he couldn't make up his mind as to which one he might like to settle down with while his family felt that if he didn't make it up soon he would probably wind up with neither.

Charlie Weasley had gone back to Romania after the war and was again working with his beloved dragons. However, he'd recently discovered another love and her name was Anya. The family had been nagging him for some months now to bring her home for a visit. Hermione smiled wryly as she wondered where they'd put them but then her smile faded as she figured they'd stay in her room since she'd probably be gone by then. She didn't' know how she had suddenly come to the decision but she realized that while she'd been sitting there that it had become apparent to her that she had to leave soon. With, or without, Ron.

From Ron her mind made the natural progression to the boy who had once been her other best friend. Harry had willfully disappeared after the battle with Voldemort. Hermione had been the only one to see him that night at St. Mungo's as she'd glanced down a hallway to see him stalking away from where she stood with the Weasleys. His hair had been even more messy than usual and his dirty and ripped robes were billowing out behind him. The next anyone had heard of him, Harry had secluded himself at Grimmauld Place and refused to see anyone. Hermione still wrote Harry once a week even though she never received any kind of reply. Still it was better than in the beginning when the letters had been returned, unopened, by an apologetic Hedwig.

Hermione was still ruminating on the paths everyone's lives had taken and wondering what her plan should be—for she vowed to have one by morning—when she heard a floorboard creak behind her.

Sighing in his sleep Ron Weasley groped out to his side with one arm and grasped—nothing. Now in a semi-awake state he reached again and still—nothing. The fact that Hermione should be at his side but wasn't jolted him awake and he abruptly sat up. Ron's eyes were wild as he scanned the room looking for signs that something was amiss but he found nothing. He tried to keep his heart from pounding—sure the noise it must be making was going to wake the entire household—as he quickly pondered the possibilities. Hermione was always there when Ron woke up. For two years she had been there whether he woke up screaming as he had so often done in the beginning or, later, when he awoke more quietly.

Swinging his feet to the floor, Ron rubbed his eyes and looked around the room again. It was then he saw the candlelight in the kitchen and knew it must be Hermione. Ron threw his blanket back on the sofa as he got up and padded to the doorway. He carefully peered around and saw Hermione sitting quietly at the table with her head down. While his heart rate returned to normal Ron silently watched as her fingers carefully traced the shadows the lone candle was throwing on the old tabletop. Ron had long since acknowledged that Hermione was the thinker of the group but right now she looked more pensive than usual. In fact, Ron thought as he ran a hand over the rough stubble on his chin, she'd been very quiet and thoughtful since dinner. He should have realized that earlier but he himself had been doing a lot of thinking since Bill and Fleur's announcement.

Ron was really happy for his brother and sister-in-law but his first thought had been that there was no place to move to from the sofa. He'd also wished for someplace quiet to go to where he could think in private. The problem with bedding down in the living room was that he couldn't go to bed—where he usually did some of his best thinking—until after everyone else had retired for the night.

He had thought about how crowded the Burrow was becoming. He had, of course, grown up in this house with a whole crowd of siblings but, somehow, this was different. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, though. Perhaps it was because before they'd been one big happy family where now they were not only smaller families sprouting up but there were glaring holes with regards to people who should still have been there. Ron instantly thought of his mother and sister. Quickly pushing them aside because it was a painful subject, he again looked at Hermione.

Ron was constantly in awe that Hermione loved him. With everything she had done for him—and continued to do—he was reminded of just how much he loved her and how very little he deserved her. Every night when he woke up, nightmare or not, she was there at his side. He often wondered what it had cost her to live at the Burrow just to be there for him. He knew that was the only reason she stayed. Now he wondered just how long she would continue to stay. Ron had suspected for a while now that she was feeling restless but he hadn't said anything for fear she would be motivated to leave. He had a feeling that conversation could not be put off for much longer.

Swallowing and taking a deep breath he stepped into the kitchen, deliberately treading on the creaky floorboard that had always given him away when he was a child trying to sneak sweets.

As he'd anticipated Hermione's chin lifted at the sound. She didn't turn to look at him but simply asked, "Another nightmare?"

"No," Ron answered quietly. "No, I didn't have a nightmare.' Walking to the table he pulled out the chair next to Hermione and continued as he sat. "I woke up because you weren't there."

There was a pause before Hermione replied, "I'm sorry. I've just got a lot on my mind."

"I know." Ron watched Hermione's fingers continue to move over the shadows on the table. He wasn't sure where to go from there and an unusually awkward silence fell.

Finally, for lack of a better starting point, Ron blurted, "Good about Bill and Fleur, isn't it?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Hermione's face. "Yes. Absolutely."

There was another silence. Ron closed his eyes briefly. He wasn't really accustomed to quiet Hermione. An angry, annoyed Hermione never failed to let Ron know what was on her mind but a quiet Hermione was a mystery he didn't know how to solve.

Taking a deep breath and opening his eyes he plunged in. "Hermione," he started. "I've got a lot on my mind, too." When she didn't respond he continued, "Do you want to know what it is?"

Hermione answered by tilting her head questioningly.

"I've been thinking," said Ron, suddenly deciding to just tell her what was in his heart, "about how you're always here. You're here not only for me but my whole family. And how you never complain about anything and I really think we've come to rely on you too much and take advantage of you."

Hermione's brow furrowed and she turned to look at Ron for the first time since he entered the kitchen.

Thinking, _I really hope I can make some sense of this_, Ron went on. "I've also been thinking how much more crowded it's about to get around here and I know there's been talk of adding on to the Burrow and there's always what seems like a good reason not to," Ron realized he was rambling but since he was now on a roll he decided it would be better not to stop. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to start again.

"Anyway, I was thinking that, well, er, maybe…" _Breathe, Weasley_, he silently told himself. "Maybe it's time for us to move on." This last was said in a rush.

Hermione didn't answer right away and Ron was afraid to look at her. When he finally did it was to see an expression of shock on her now pale face.

"You," she whispered, "you think I should leave?"

_Leave?_ Ron thought, confused. _Why would I want her to leave? Wasn't she listening?_ Ron thought back over what he'd said and realized how it must have sounded. He mentally kicked himself as he reached out to take Hermione's now motionless hand from the table.

"I think we should both leave," Ron said.

"What?" Hermione asked, now looking even more confused.

"I—" Ron ran his other hand through his vibrant ginger hair causing it to stand more on end than it already was. "Blimey, Hermione, I'm not very good at this."

"At what? Ron, just tell me what you're trying to say."

" I was thinking, maybe, if you wanted to, well, maybe…" his voice had dropped so low he didn't know if Hermione could hear him. "Maybe we could get married."

Ron winced at the silence. Now he was the one who couldn't look up and his gaze rested on the table where he was still clasping Hermione's hand. He didn't really know where the question had come from but the moment he'd heard it, he knew it was what he wanted more than anything.

"Ron," Hermione finally whispered and he chanced the slightest look up in her direction. "You want to marry me?"

Now Ron looked her full in the face and said strongly, "Hermione, I've wanted to marry you since fifth year when I woke up in the hospital wing and saw you sleeping in the bed next to mine."

Hermione let out her breath and laughed shortly as she glanced around the room. When she looked back at Ron her eyes were watering. "That long?" she asked and Ron nodded. "But you've never said anything," she accused.

"Well, there was never a right time," Ron defended himself. "I mean I know this isn't exactly the most romantic moment or how I thought I might ask you but I couldn't ask you before. There was the war and after that and all that happened I just—well, I didn't want to tie you down when I didn't even really know if I'd ever be all right again. But you stayed with me." Ron looked at her in wonder, "you stayed anyway and I loved you even more."

Ron paused and reached out to caress Hermione's cheek. She leaned into his hand, tears freely spilling from her eyes. "I knew," he continued, "we couldn't stay this way when Fred and Angelina moved in but I didn't know how to say anything so I didn't."

"And now?" Hermione asked.

"And now," he repeated, "I woke up not because of a nightmare but because I was looking for you. You've always been there but tonight you weren't and I got scared."

"Of what?"

He shook his head. "I guess I got scared that I might lose you because I suddenly realized what it was to wake up without you. I want you always beside me, Hermione. Nothing feels right when you aren't there."

Hermione closed her eyes only to open them when Ron spoke again.

"Hermione." He looked at her intently. "You haven't answered my question."

She smirked at him. "You didn't ask me a question, Ronald."

Looking puzzled, Ron said, "I didn't?"

"No. You made a statement."

Ron thought back and realized she was right. _I am such a git_, he thought. He looked at Hermione and saw the smile on her face and, more importantly, the love in her eyes. Grinning back at her he asked, "Well, do you agree with my statement?"

Hermione laughed and said, "Yes, Ron. Yes, I do."

Still grinning Ron leaned forward and whispered, "I love you," just as their lips met.


	2. Chapter 2 Lunch with the Grangers

Many thanks go to my beta Jan who's the greatest. Also, please note this story was written pre-HBP so is now slightly AU. I've just been slow in getting it posted.

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II

Lunch with the Grangers

Ron and Hermione did not sleep a wink that night. After sharing some tender kisses and smiles in the kitchen they moved to the couch in the living room. 'Ron's couch' as the family had been calling it since it had basically become his bed. Neither of them had been able to sleep and once settled under Ron's blankets they spent the rest of the night alternately snogging, talking, and snogging some more. Finally they both drifted into light dozes as dawn began to creep over the horizon.

A light step on the stairs woke Ron and he opened his eyes to see Bill trying to creep quietly down with Girard in his arms. Ron yawned widely and grinned at Bill who stopped mid-way down the staircase.

"Sorry, Ron," Bill whispered, trying to maintain a grip on his squirming son who wanted to get down to run and jump on his favorite uncle. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's okay," Ron whispered back as Hermione stirred next to him.

Bill continued down the stairs in his stiff gait. For the most part his bad leg didn't bother him too much but he was always a bit nervous on stairs, especially carrying Girard, and always watched his feet. When he reached the bottom Bill looked up again to see that Ron and a now fully awake Hermione were smiling broadly at each other.

Looking at the pair with an expression of wariness on his face, Bill said, "You two look like you're up to something." Ron and Hermione both blushed. "What?" Bill asked.

Ron glanced at Hermione questioningly. Did she want to be the one to tell or should he? Eyes twinkling she nodded to Ron and he turned back to his brother.

"Well, Bill," Ron began, trying to think of a way to tell Bill without just blurting it out. Of course, he really just wanted to shout it from the top of the roof but he thought it would also be kind of fun to tease Bill. His brother was not much of a morning person. "There's going to be a change in status before too long."

Bill looked confused. "Status?"

Ron tilted his head toward Hermione. "Yeah," he said, "my status and Hermione's status."

Bill seemed to be catching the meaning just as Girard pulled on his ponytail. "Ungy," complained the toddler.

"In a minute." Bill pulled his son's hand away from his hair and asked, "You mean status as in _marital_ status?"

Ron and Hermione both nodded gleefully.

Bill's eyes widened and he grinned. "That's great! Congratulations!"

Before any of the adults could speak Girard jumped in. "Daddy!" he almost wailed. "I'm ungy!"

"Okay, okay," muttered Bill, beaming at Ron and Hermione as he headed for the kitchen.

Several minutes later Ron and Hermione were sharing a somewhat passionate kiss when Fred and Angelina came down the stairs. Breaking apart they looked at Fred who took one look at the couple and stopped abruptly on the bottom step causing Angelina to plow into him from behind.

Steadying his wife, Fred barked, "Well, it's about time!"

Angelina, trying to see around Fred, asked, "What's about time?"

Fred misheard and whirled to face his heavily pregnant wife. "It's time?" Behind him Ron snorted and Hermione giggled.

"What?" Angelina was confused.

"You said 'it's time.'" All the color had drained out of Fred's face as he looked at Angelina's belly.

"No, I didn't." She was unconsciously rubbing her stomach with small circular motions. This did not seem to reassure Fred.

"Yes you did!" he insisted.

"No, I didn't." Angelina sounded cross. "_You_ said, 'it's about time' and I asked, '_what's_ about time?'"

There was a pause as Fred seemed to be thinking and then the color returned to his face, leaving him tinged a slight pink. "Oh," he said and shot a glare at Ron and Hermione, both of whom were unable to stifle their laughter. All the steam seemed to have gone out of Fred as he muttered, "Well, I'll tell you in the kitchen." He took Angelina's arm and led her out of the room.

Ron and Hermione were still chuckling when Mr. Weasley came downstairs. He nodded briefly at the two of them. "Good morning," he said before disappearing into the kitchen. A moment later he stuck his head back out and with raised eyebrows asked, "Really?" They nodded and Mr. Weasley said, "Well, that's wonderful news. Just wonderful." With that he disappeared back into the kitchen.

Not quite a week later Ron and Hermione made their way to London. Hermione had written her parents but only told them she had some good news and would be by on Sunday to share it with them. Ron had asked why she had not just told them in the letter and she had said, "That's not something you tell your parents in a letter." She was so emphatic about it Ron felt it pointless to argue.

The visit with Hermione's parents went fairly well though there were a few awkward moments. Particularly for Ron.

The first was right after Hermione made the announcement. There was a brief silence and then her mother, with one hand on her chest in surprise—though Hermione really felt her mother should have seen it coming—sniffed.

"My baby girl's getting married!" She gathered Hermione up in a hug. By the time she turned to Ron the tears were flowing freely. Hermione clearly saw the look of horror on her fiancé's face as her mother embraced him. It was no secret that Ron had never been very adept at handling weeping females and Hermione struggled greatly to keep from laughing.

The second awkward moment came at lunch when Hermione's mother began planning the wedding. First she asked what the date was and, with a nervous glance at Ron, Hermione answered, "We haven't chosen one yet."

It was Mrs. Granger's turn to look horrified. "What do you mean you haven't chosen one?"

"Well, we haven't," answered Hermione, somewhat defiantly.

"Why, Hermione Granger, you know how far in advance these things must be planned out. You choose a date immediately. Even before you send an owl to your parents!"

Ron fidgeted while Hermione opened her mouth to reply but her mother spoke first. "There's the hall to be booked, the church, the caterer, the flowers and music. Invitations need to be ordered and the guest lists organized. We must speak to the minister and, of course, there's the dress and the fittings—"

Here Ron interrupted. Clearly, all this planning talk had goaded him into speaking up.

"We don't need all that, Mrs. Granger. Certainly not a hall or flowers or any of what you just said. And Hermione doesn't need a fancy dress. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, she doesn't need to wear a dress at all!"

Silence.

Hermione knew Ron had not meant that quite the way it came out and when she saw his ears turn red she also knew he had just realized himself how it had sounded.

Hermione was looking at Ron with pride. She was pleased he had spoken up and taken a stand. Mrs. Granger was looking at Ron with an expression of astonishment while Mr. Granger was recovering from choking on his tea.

Finally it was Mr. Granger who spoke. "Well said, Ron." He reached his hand across the table to shake Ron's but Mrs. Granger slapped it away.

"What do you mean, 'well said?'" she demanded as the redness in Ron's ears spread to his face." He would have our daughter wear nothing to her own wedding! What would people think?"

It was Mrs. Granger's turn to blush as her husband simply raised his eyebrows at her. His grin broadened and he said, "Now dear, don't you think you're being a bit too literal? Surely you don't think that's what Ron meant do you?"

While her mother was staring speechless at her father, Hermione, trying to ignore the strange twist in the conversation, said, "Uh, well, Mother, Ron and I are planning a small wedding."

Ron nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

Mrs. Granger returned her attention her daughter. "How small?" she asked. Before Hermione could reply her mother said, "I don't think I could get it down to fewer than 200 guests on our side." Ron coughed while trying to hold back a gasp as his future mother-in-law continued. "And that would mean cutting out Uncle Edelbert and his family."

Hermione was amazed her mother could come up with that number so quickly as well as know who would need to be cut. Patting Ron on the back she said, "Immediate family only."

Mrs. Granger gasped. "Hermione Jane Granger, you must be out of your mind!"

Ron now bit back a laugh that almost turned into another coughing fit. How many times had he said something quite similar to Hermione?

Looking her mother directly in the eye, Hermione firmly stated, "Immediate. Family. Only. We're not budging on that."

"Well," sputtered Mrs. Granger. "That is the most…why I…it's just completely unfair! Your father and I are your only immediate family and Ron, why Ron has all those siblings and undoubtedly they'll all bring spouses or dates and, of course, there'll also be Harry…" Mrs. Granger suddenly trailed off as Hermione gave her a sharp glance and she looked over to see Ron gazing sadly at the table.

For a moment no one said anything. Hermione could see her mother was remembering what her daughter had told her about Ron's losses in the war two years ago: a brother dead, his sister seemingly a permanent resident of the wizarding hospital and not to mention the death of his mother. And Harry. They all knew Harry would not be present either.

"Ron," said Mrs. Granger quietly. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

Looking up at her Ron smiled wanly. "That's all right," he said. "Things have to go forward. And you're right," he added, "I do have a big family. Maybe we could invite the same number of people on both sides," he suggested. "You know, even it out a bit."

Hermione's mother smiled warmly at Ron. "That would be lovely."

"We still want it small, though," said Ron.

"I understand. But you need to understand this is my only daughter, my only child. I just want her to have the perfect wedding."

Ron nodded.

Hermione, trying to keep the tears in her eyes from spilling over lest Ron panic at the sight of them, spoke up, "It will be perfect, Mum. I'm marrying the man I love. And as long as you and Daddy are there I couldn't want for anything else."

Mrs. Granger sat back in her chair, waved her napkin in front of her face and sniffed. "Well," she said, "you seem to have it all in hand."

Mr. Granger smiled at his daughter while his wife sniffed again and her eyes flooded with tears, causing an expression of fear to cross Ron's face.

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Thanks for reading! Now, if you'd do me a favor and review, that would be awesome! 


	3. Chapter 3 Hermione's Suggestion

_Many thanks to all of you who have reviewed. Thanks also to my betas without whom this wouldn't be worth reading!_

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III

Hermione's Suggestion

Hermione and Ron left the Grangers' in good spirits. Since it was such a beautiful evening they decided to go for a walk before heading back to the Burrow.

As twilight began to fall Hermione became thoughtful. One of the things she and Ron had not really discussed was where they were going to live. They had agreed they would definitely not be living at the Burrow though they thought it best to stay there until the wedding. Anything beyond that, however, was still up in the air.

Hermione had had a brief idea but initially had dismissed it as being ridiculous. She was sure that none of the parties involved would agree. But then there had been a comment at lunch that had put the idea back in her head and she wondered if it might be possible after all. The more she thought about it the more she thought it just might be crazy enough to work. But first there was the issue of how to make her suggestion to Ron. She knew he would not like it.

The more quiet and thoughtful Hermione became as she worried at the subject in her mind the more she could feel Ron sending questioning glances her way. She knew he wanted her to tell him what was bothering her but that he was trying to be patient and let her bring it up on her own.

Finally, Ron lost the battle. "Do you want to tell me what's on your mind?" he asked.

Hermione hesitated but then decided to take the opening. "Well," she started, "we haven't really discussed where we're going to live. I was just sort of thinking about that."

Ron's face brightened. "I've got some money saved up. I thought maybe we could get a small flat somewhere. Maybe near Hogsmeade?"

"I've been saving some money as well," Hermione admitted.

Ron looked like Christmas had come early. "I'll bet we could find something really grand!" he exclaimed. When Hermione didn't respond immediately Ron asked, "Hermione, what is it?"

Hermione still did not answer. Instead she was frowning. She knew how much Ron would love to have a home he could call his own and she hated to say anything but maybe, just maybe…

"Hermione?" Ron was still looking at her with concern.

Glancing around, Hermione saw they were near a park. "Why don't we sit down?" she suggested, indicating a nearby bench.

Once seated Ron turned to her. "Hermione, what's this all about, really?" he asked.

Still ambivalent, Hermione chewed on her lower lip. Maybe she _should_ just let it go. They could find someplace to live and just be happy. They deserved it, and they certainly didn't owe anyone anything. But the idea was now fully formed and would not go away until she had at least tried. Suspecting what Ron's response would be Hermione plunged ahead anyway.

"Well, I was rather thinking that maybe we could gain the privacy we want and possibly help someone else at the same time."

Ron was clearly confused. "What?" he asked.

"I, well, I was wondering how you would feel if we were to live at, er, well, Grimmauld Place."

"_What_?"

Ron gaped at Hermione in astonishment. They had spent the afternoon discussing wedding plans with Hermione's parents and what had promised to be a happy conversation about where they would live after they were married had just taken an odd turn. Hermione could not honestly mean she thought they should live with Harry could she? He wondered if the house next door was available or something. Looking at Hermione he noted the frown lines in her forehead and the way she was wringing her hands. Both were sure signs that she was really nervous, and Ron realized Hermione _was_ suggesting they live with Harry.

He shook his head in disbelief.

"Let me see if I've got this right," he said. "We're getting married. While we've been together for ages we are finally stepping out on our own to begin a life together that's just the two of us. I don't know about you but I can't remember ever being happier than I've been this past week since you agreed to marry me." He took a deep breath and continued, "And now you're telling me you think we should move in with _Harry_? Someone who not only hasn't responded to a single letter we, his best friends, have written to him in over two years, but who also hasn't been seen by _anyone_ and is obviously holed up in Grimmauld Place sulking or something?"

Ron knew he could be thick at times but in this instance he felt he had grasped the concept fairly well.

Hermione winced and nodded. "Yes."

"You're mental!" Ron exploded. "You do know that, don't you? What kind of a life could that possibly be? What kind of start to a marriage is that? Living with someone who's cut themselves off from the entire world and is undoubtedly as bitter and angry as he was even back at Hogwarts!"

"Ron, please. Listen—"

"Have you already asked him?" Ron demanded.

"No."

"Then don't."

"But Ron—"

"No. I know Harry had a huge burden to deal with growing up. I know he had to make difficult choices, that he literally had the weight of the world on his shoulders but we were there for him. We tried to help in every way possible. We risked our lives for him and we suffered, too."

Ron was ranting now but he did not care. The idea of going to live with Harry at Grimmauld Place when Harry had so clearly spurned his and Hermione's friendship since the war had ended made Ron angry. Harry had been like a brother to Ron, another brother for him to have to live up to and to be overshadowed by. But still a brother. As he would do for all his natural brothers, Ron had tried to be there for Harry when he needed it and in the end Harry had responded by rejecting them all. Ron was loath to admit it, even to himself, but he felt hurt by that rejection.

Ron could see Hermione opening her mouth to speak, but before she could he continued with his tirade.

"How many times were we hurt because we were helping him? How many times did we wind up in the hospital wing? Hermione, you almost died fifth year because he just had to go running to the department of mysteries and even though we were against it we still stood by him!" Ron's face was bright red now and he could feel a throbbing in his forehead. He could always tell when his Uncle Bilius was angry because a vein in his forehead would pulse. Ron briefly hoped he was not developing the same thing. As a child it had always rather frightened him to see that vein looking like it was about to burst.

The more Ron yelled, the angrier he became with Harry. He supposed he had always been angry with Harry for bailing on the rest of them but there had been so many other things to deal with. Now, though, it all came pouring out.

"Not to mention the other losses we all suffered in the war. I lost my mother! Percy changed sides and _I_ was the one who had to kill him! Bill almost died and Ginny might as well have! Could Harry have even once acknowledged any of that? No, he selfishly blames himself for everything and uses that as an excuse to hide away from us all so he doesn't have to see how people's lives have changed. If he wants to be that way, fine! But I am just as finished with the bloody Boy-Who-Lived as he is with us!"

Ron sat taking in great gulps of air while tears streamed down Hermione's cheeks. Neither of them spoke. After listening to Hermione sniff for a few minutes, Ron reached into his pocket and took out a crumpled handkerchief that he wordlessly held out to her. It was quite possibly the first instance that a crying female had not reduced Ron Weasley to a quivering mass of fear.

When Hermione's sniffles became fewer, Ron, without looking at her, said, "Let's go home."

Given the edge in his voice he wasn't the least bit surprised when, very un-Hermione-like, she simply nodded her head. The next moment the bench was empty and the air held the echoes of two small _cracks_ caused by the pair disapparating.

Aside from the occasional "Please pass the salt" at dinner or "excuse me" if they happened to brush up against each other in a hallway, Ron and Hermione were not speaking.

Like clockwork Hermione continued to awaken in the middle of the night. The first night, after a lengthy mental argument with herself, she finally threw back her blankets and headed down the stairs.

Three steps from the bottom she paused and looked at Ron, who was, as usual, sprawled on the sofa. It took her a few moments to realize that Ron was not sleeping but, rather, glaring at the ceiling.

"Ron?" she whispered as she put one foot on the next step but Ron simply turned on his side with his back toward her. Fighting back a sob, Hermione fled up the stairs. Once in her room she buried her face in her pillow and cried herself to sleep.

The next night when she woke she was again unable to resist the urge to go downstairs to check on Ron. This time she was only halfway down when she heard a thud and she put a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She silently crept down a few more steps until she could see Ron.

He was sitting up on the floor next to the sofa and grimacing as he rubbed an elbow. After a few minutes he shot a dark look upward towards Hermione's room and then got up and sat on the sofa where he ran his hands through his hair before setting his elbows on his legs and his face in his hands.

Mindful of the night before, Hermione took a few steps more down the stairs. She forgot about the two steps that creaked. At the sound Ron looked up sharply and then glowered at her so fiercely she simply turned around and went back to her room.

By the third day the others began to notice something was not right. Hermione caught Fleur and Angelina exchanging concerned looks in the kitchen but left the room before they could say anything. Once she saw Bill approach Ron out by the shed in the garden. Bill barely had his mouth open before Ron snarled something at his oldest brother and stalked off. Hermione distantly heard whispers between the Weasleys but she deliberately stayed away from them by hiding in her room where she spent the hours she was at home staring out the window wishing desperately that she had listened to common sense and just let this idea go. By Friday she again began to wonder if she ought to leave because it certainly did not look as though she would be getting married anytime soon.

And still she continued to wake at night. A few times she heard Ron's cries, as the nightmares seemed to recur with more frequency than they had in a long time. When she did she slipped out into the hall and sat on the floor not only crying silently along with him but also cursing herself for causing this rift.

Sunday dawned heavy and thick with the promise of rain. Hermione was about to pull the pillow over her head as it seemed the perfect day for a lie in when there was a knock on the door and it was flung open before she could answer. Startled, she sat up.

Ron stood in the doorway looking at her coolly. There was a flicker in his eyes but it was gone before she could identify what it was. It seemed ages before he spoke.

"Angelina's gone into labor and the midwife has arrived. She says there's quite a bit of time to go so we've decided to visit Ginny early today in order to be home when the baby comes." Hermione opened her mouth to speak but Ron continued.

"_If_ you're going to join us," he challenged.

She felt it begin in the pit of her stomach but she had been wallowing in self-pity and fear all week and it took a moment to recognize the anger for what it was. Her eyes narrowed and her chin jutted out in defiance. "Fine," she spat; furious that Ron would think Ginny meant less to her now just because the two of them were having a row.

There was another spark of something in Ron's eyes as he tilted his head back at her. "Fine," he returned and left, not quite slamming the door behind him.

Hermione's pillow flew through the air and hit the door with a soft thump.

Breakfast was a do-it-yourself affair that morning. In the living room Fleur and the midwife were walking Angelina in circles while Fred hovered anxiously nearby. Every time he got too close to her, Angelina would snarl at him to go find something else to do.

Bill had done just that as he had bundled Girard up against the rain and the two of them flooed to the Leaky Cauldron to spend a day in Diagon Alley running errands for the family and just generally keeping away. Mr. Weasley was sipping some tea at the kitchen table while Hermione, hovering in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, held an uneaten piece of toast on one hand. Angelina was so agitated in her labor she was making Hermione nervous. She had been present when Fleur's labor had been at its most extreme but Fleur had seemed almost serene in comparison.

Hermione was about to start gnawing on her fingernails instead of her toast when a voice spoke softly in her ear. "Are you ready to go?"

Without turning to look at Ron, who had come down the back stairs in order to avoid the scene in the living room, Hermione said worriedly, "Do you think we should?"

"First babies take forever," said Ron expertly. "It'll be ages yet. Remember how long Fleur was in labor?"

Hermione nodded. Fleur's labor had lasted more than eighteen hours. "But, Ron," she said, "it seems so intense _now_."

Ron laid a hand on her shoulder. They both winced a bit at the contact as nothing between them had been resolved. "The sooner we go, the sooner we get back."

Sighing, Hermione turned and Ron removed his hand. Mr. Weasley was standing patiently behind them waiting. He nodded an acknowledgment to them and then disapparated with a crack.

Ron and Hermione stood quietly in a hallway on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies. They had already been in to see Ginny and were waiting for Mr. Weasley to finish a private visit with his daughter.

Ginny Weasley had been a resident of St. Mungo's since the end of the war with Voldemort. Day after day and week after week she sat in her little room rocking forward and backward and staring blankly at the walls. The healers said it was most likely caused by some sort of shock. Something had happened that she did not want to face; something that also seemed to make her angry as one of her healers had once told Ron, hence the rocking. As one of the two last things she had witnessed had been the death of her boyfriend at the hands of her brother Percy, Ron knew it could have been that which had triggered this. It could also have been seeing Ron unhesitatingly kill Percy. This is what Ron relived in the nightmares that had worsened again since the row with Hermione and it was what he daily hoped was not what Ginny saw repeated in her mind; if, indeed, she saw anything. Ron could not help but feel that she did.

Ron frowned. He blamed himself for Ginny's condition. One way or another it was his fault. If he had just been able to stop Percy from killing Neville or if he had been able to think of another way to keep Percy from then killing Ginny. Just as Harry was not to blame for many of the things he assumed responsibility for, Ron realized he really should not be taking the blame for Ginny's condition. They had all done things in the war they normally would not have in a time of peace and really, no one was to blame for anything.

Ron closed his eyes and mentally kicked himself. He was doing the same thing he was so angry with Harry for doing.

But what was the difference? Why was Ron able to put some semblance of a life back together while Harry had not? Ron opened his eyes and looked down the hallway to where Hermione was in conversation with Healer Welsh-Moore and he was hit with another thunderbolt. Ron had something Harry had never really had.

A family.

Despite the losses in the war the remaining Weasleys had all been there for one another. There had always been someone to turn to for comfort, someone with whom to share the pain. And Ron had had Hermione. She came to him in the middle of the night and held him while whispering soothing words in his ears until the images in his head drifted away and there was only her. She was there during the day, smiling at him for what often seemed like no reason.

While the Weasleys and Hermione had fancied themselves Harry's surrogate family it was clearly not a bond that had been strong enough to rescue Harry from despair. Harry had no Hermione. Ron had been one of the few to know how Harry and Luna had felt about each other but Luna had been lost in the final battle also and that loss must have crushed him. Ron knew he never would have gotten over it if he had lost Hermione. There were no arms of comfort for Harry. Suddenly Ron felt sorrier for Harry than he ever had. While there was still a certain sting that Harry had not felt he could rely on his friends, Ron began to see it through Harry's eyes. And Hermione's.

He looked at the door to his sister's room. Ginny had not been abandoned by her family. Harry should not be abandoned by those who considered themselves his. Hermione knew this. If this idea of hers might help Harry then Ron supposed they should at least try it.

Hermione had finished talking to the healer and, like Ron, was simply waiting for Mr. Weasley. When Ron caught her eye he saw a spark of anger there. Ah, good. Familiar territory.

Ron smiled.

Hermione was feeling annoyed with Ron for carrying his grudge this far. They were not still students at Hogwarts, for goodness sake! She had just finished her weekly conversation with Ginny's healer about the progress Ginny was not making when she looked over at Ron and he had the audacity to grin at her. And not just any grin. No, this was a full-out designed-to-make-her-heart-melt lopsided Weasley grin.

Unable to help herself, Hermione growled, "What?"

Ron's smile grew. "Mad at me, are you?"

What kind of a question was that? Of course she was. He knew that or he would not be asking. "Yes," she replied, trying not to let Ron's smile get to her.

"It's about time, you know."

"Excuse me?"

"Well," Ron seemed to be having difficulty containing himself. "We always seem to get things settled so much more quickly when you're yelling at me but you've been as sulky as I have all week."

Hermione did not know whether to laugh at the outrageousness of Ron's comment or to stalk over to him and wipe that smirk off his face with a good slap. As she was battling with these emotions she suddenly realized what Ron was doing. He was picking a fight with her as a way of opening up a conversation. She was impressed with the brilliance of the idea.

Throwing it right back at him she spat, "Oh, and your behavior has been so much better hasn't it?"

"You didn't have to let it go on for so long," he shot back.

"Oh, that's nice. Just place all the blame on me."

"All right."

Hermione felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, honestly," she said. Giving in to the smile she said, "I hate you."

If possible, Ron's grin grew. "And I hate you."

They stared at each other across the hallway. Both were startled by Mr. Weasley clearing his throat. Hermione did not know how long he had been standing outside the door of Ginny's room. Apparently it had been long enough because he looked from Ron to Hermione and then said, "So, you kids have worked that out, have you?"

Well, they had not really but Hermione knew their short burst of anger had been the beginning of a dialogue and now they would be able to get past it. Ron seemed to know it as well and they both nodded.

"Well, good," said Mr. Weasley. "Then what do you say we head home and see if we have any new family members yet?" He turned down the hallway and headed toward the stairs. Ron and Hermione followed.

Ron took Hermione's hand and she pulled it away. Undaunted Ron grabbed her hand again and held on tight. Hermione kept trying to pull it way and then giggled. Ron sniggered in response.

Neither of them noticed a blond head peering out the window of the Janus Thickey Ward as they passed by. Gilderoy Lockhart watched them with a sappy grin on his bland face. "Ah, young love," he sighed.

Ron, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley apparated outside the back door of the Burrow. The first thing to greet them was the sound of an ear piercing scream followed by several loud curses in which Fred's name was mentioned more than once.

With the air of a man whose wife had borne seven children, Mr. Weasley looked up at the house and said, "Ah, you know, I think I've got several new plugs that I haven't fully figured out." He turned on his heel and hurried toward the garden shed.

George had arrived and Ron could see him and Bill teaching Girard the fine art of de-gnoming a garden. Girard would yell down a gnome hole as loudly as he could, causing several gnomes to pop up from holes nearby to see what the commotion was all about. Bill or George—whoever was currently gnomeless—would promptly grab one, swing it about and heave it over the wall while Girard would laugh hysterically. All in all Ron thought it was a pretty good technique.

Another scream rent the air and Ron nervously looked at Hermione. Her eyes were wide and she seemed to be in the throes of an internal argument with herself. He reckoned she was trying to decide if she should go in the house to see if she could be of any help or if she should flee. Personally, Ron preferred the latter.

"You know," he said and Hermione turned to look at him, "we never finished that argument."

"No," she managed. "No, we didn't."

"Why don't we do that now," suggested Ron. "Say, maybe way over there?" He gestured toward the field where he and his brothers, Ginny, and Harry had practiced Quidditch while at Hogwarts.

Hermione nodded and gulped as Angelina cursed Fred again. "Or farther," she added.

The pair was just out of earshot of the house when Ron finally spoke. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, sitting on the ground and pulling her down with him.

Settling herself beside him, Hermione asked, "For what?"

"For yelling at you," replied Ron. "For being so angry about Harry. I just...I can't help it. So many people have tried so hard for him and he thanks them by ignoring them."

Hermione put a hand on Ron's knee and said, "I'm the one who's sorry, Ron."

Ron frowned and asked, "Why are you sorry?"

"For not putting you first. I got this crazy idea—" Ron snorted "—and I convinced myself it really wouldn't bother you when I knew I should really let it go." Making sure she had Ron's full attention, Hermione continued. "You always come first with me, Ron. You do know that, don't you?"

Ron responded with a happy little smile and, putting his hands on Hermione's shoulders, he leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead. He then rested his chin on top of her head and said, "I love you, Hermione. I love you and I never should have shut you out all week. I've been such a prat."

Hermione smiled, tilting her head up to kiss Ron's chin. "I haven't been much better," she replied.

They sat that way for a long moment, grateful to not only have gotten back to speaking terms but also to speaking-of-their-feelings terms.

Finally Ron pulled back and looked at Hermione. "So," he said, "tell me why you think we should live with Harry."

Hermione gave him a look astonishment before asking, "What?"

"I want to know why you think we should spend our newly-married days living with a probably sour and ill-tempered friend."

"We don't have to if you don't want to. I mean, it's probably a bad idea and even if we ask him he'll most likely say no."

"Hermione," said Ron softly. "You had a reason for thinking it might be a _good_ idea. Now, tell me why or this whole lousy week will have been for nothing."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before finally eking out an answer. "I feel guilty about having you, Ron," she said. "And for being so happy when I know Harry's so alone and miserable. I thought…well, I suppose among other things, I thought if he could see how happy we are and spent time with us again he might not want to be so alone anymore."

Ron was thoughtful for several moments. He was still angry with Harry but all Hermione wanted to do was try and help him. Ron remembered his musings at St. Mungo's and decided it was a pretty generous thing Hermione wanted to do--share her happiness with someone who needed it desperately.

Sighing, Ron said, "Send him an owl."

Hermione stared at Ron with a look of combined surprise and pleasure. "Are you sure," she asked.

"I'm sure."


	4. Chapter 4 An Owl and a Hippogriff

IV

An Owl and A Hippogriff

Despite the fact they both had to work early in the morning, Ron and Hermione spent much of the night attempting to write their letter to Harry. They argued over whether or not to just pose their question in the letter. Hermione thought it might be better while Ron was vehemently opposed, saying that Harry would likely ignore the letter anyway, just as he had all the others they had written.

"For that matter, Hermione," said Ron. "How do we even know he'll respond to this one?"

Hermione thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. "We don't," she said. "But we have to try. That's why we should just put the question to him in the letter. Then if he doesn't respond we know we at least asked."

Ron shook his head. "No," he said. "If he does read it he'll probably just throw it in the bin. But if we tell him you need to talk to him and make it sound urgent then maybe we'll pique his curiosity and he'll actually respond."

Hermione was silent as she considered Ron's words. He actually had a very good point. There was no way of knowing whether Harry was even reading Hermione's letters but if he was then this letter should be different. There should be something about it that would actually convince him to pick up a quill and write back.

In the end, after much discarded parchment littered the floor around Hermione's desk, the letter turned out to be a very short two sentences. Ron was convinced the very brevity of the letter would be enough to cause Harry to write back as Hermione had almost never written a letter that was shorter than a foot of parchment. Hermione was indignant about this but Ron won the argument.

"After all," he said, matter-of-factly, "your letters to Vicky, er, Victor were always short novels."

Hermione bristled slightly but chose not to respond. Instead she read the letter aloud again:

_Dear Harry, _

_Something has happened and I really need to see and speak to you. Please let me know when would be convenient. _

_Love,  
Hermione_

"It just seems like there's something missing," she worried.

"Nonsense. It's fine," Ron reassured her. "I'll go find Pig." He left the room and Hermione smiled as she heard him mutter, "It's not like he's going to answer anyway."

Together they stood at the window as Ron tied the parchment to the little owl's leg. Pigwidgeon was aquiver with excitement as he tried his hardest to stay still. He seemed to sense this was an important delivery. Finally, the letter was tied on and Ron looked at Pig for a brief moment before opening the window.

"Don't come back without some sort of a reply," Ron instructed as he unlatched the window and thrust the owl out into the night. Ron took Hermione's hand and held it tightly as they watched Pig disappear in the darkness.

Now, it was all up to Harry.

By the end of the week there had still been no answer from Harry or any sign of Pigwidgeon.

Friday morning the Weasleys—minus Angelina who was still sleeping—were having a quiet breakfast. Fred, still unaccustomed to the hours required by his new fatherhood, was practically asleep in his eggs. Around him the others were trying to make as little noise as possible.

Suddenly a small voice intruded on the quiet. "Ow!"

Everyone swiveled their heads to look at Girard who was pointing at the window. A number of owls were headed their way with the morning post. Several of them landed in front of Fred or dropped letters on his head before swooping back out the window the way they came. Startled, Fred jumped and when he saw the letters he reached for one. He was reading aloud a letter of congratulations from Charlie when Ron gave a sharp, "Bloody hell!"

Pigwidgeon had flown through the window after the other owls and circled the room twice before buzzing Ron playfully. If Hermione had not been so eager for Pig's arrival, she would have scolded Ron for swearing. As it was, the rest of the family was used to Ron ranting at and about his owl and they returned their attention to Fred as well as their own post.

Ron swatted at Pigwidgeon who finally settled on the table in front of him. Ron was reaching out for a letter when he realized there wasn't one. He looked anxiously at Hermione and when he saw the disappointment on her face he was sorry for having been proven right. Harry wasn't going to respond.

"I told you not to come back empty-handed," Ron hissed at the little owl who hooted cheerfully in response.

Fred had moved on to a note from Oliver Wood that had come in a small parcel with a tiny, red stuffed quaffle, when the same little voice that had proclaimed the arrival of the post again piped up. "Ow!" repeated Girard, once more pointing at the window.

Everyone again turned to the window and wondered whom the straggler owl was for. Hermione suddenly gasped while Ron's mouth dropped open. Around them the rest of the Weasleys wore similar expressions of surprise and disbelief as they watched a large, snowy owl's dignified entrance through the kitchen window. She soared across the room and landed gracefully in front of Hermione and gently nipped her finger in greeting.

There was silence in the kitchen as they all sat motionless and stared at the owl. It was Fred who finally broke the silence as Hermione reached out for the parchment attached to the owl's leg. "That's not—" he started, "That can't be…Hedwig?" He asked cautiously.

No one answered him but Girard took that as a signal to speak and proudly pointed at Hedwig. "Ow!" he said triumphantly. There was nervous laughter around the table as everyone's attention remained on an owl they had not seen in more than two years.

Ron watched as Hermione unrolled the parchment. She gulped and her face turned white. Wordlessly she handed it to Ron who read it and disgustedly threw it on the table proclaiming, "Well, that's just mean!"

Seated across the table, Bill picked up the parchment, scanned it quickly and, after a brief look at Ron, read aloud:

_Buckbeak will be at the Burrow at 2:00 tomorrow. Be ready to fly. _

They all turned to Ron and Hermione. Hermione was still pale and Ron was seething. "He knows she hates to fly!" he cried defensively.

Hermione suddenly grabbed the parchment, jumped up from the table, and ran from the room. Ron sat dejectedly in his seat lamenting the fact that while Harry had unexpectedly answered Hermione's letter he had sent such a cruel reply. He knew that not only did Hermione dislike flying but she had hated her one and only ride on Buckbeak. Ron remembered the horror on her face as she had recounted it to him on a visit to the hospital wing third year while Ron's broken leg was still mending. He remembered how her voice had been laced with fear and when she had given a little shudder at the memory of the flight, he had felt strangely compelled to reach out and hug her. He had, however, managed to restrain himself.

Ron could feel everyone's eyes on him as they waited for an explanation. He was not quite sure what to say, as they had not told anyone their idea of living with Harry in case it did not work out. He was saved from speaking when Hermione raced back into the kitchen. She went straight to Hedwig and tied a piece of parchment to her leg. The owl nodded, hooted, and took off through the window.

When Hedwig was out of sight Ron turned to Hermione and asked, "What did you say?"

Taking a deep breath, Hermione answered, "'I'll be ready.'"

Ron closed his eyes and shook his head as he heard his father ask, "You're going to see Harry?"

"Yes," he heard Hermione reply.

"Blimey," said Fred and he let out a long, low whistle.

"What's this all about?" Bill put in.

Ron opened his eyes and exchanged a nervous look with Hermione. Finally Ron answered, "We'll tell you about it after tomorrow." Picking up his fork, Ron attacked what remained of his breakfast while Hermione sat back down and shoved her plate toward him.

Saturday afternoon Ron and Hermione stood tensely outside the back door of the Burrow. Hermione kept chewing on her lower lip while Ron was shifting from foot to foot. Various faces kept appearing at windows of the house as other members of the household hoped to catch a glimpse of the awaited hippogriff. Even George had apparated over, having left Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in the capable hands of Lee Jordan for the afternoon.

Hermione looked at her watch and Ron heard it squeal, "It's two minutes since the last time you looked at me!" She sighed and returned her gaze to the clear blue sky before exchanging glances with Ron who simply shrugged. Buckbeak was late.

A window opened above them and Fred's head poked out and scanned the sky. He looked down at the pair and asked, "Nothing yet, then?" Hermione shook her head. Fred then called down, "Oy! Ron!"

Looking up, Ron asked, "Yeah?"

"What do you think of 'Rupert?'"?

Confusion clouded Ron's face. "What?"

"As a name for the baby. Angelina's suddenly fixated on 'Rupert.'"

Ron scowled and that was all the answer Fred needed. "Yeah," he nodded, "that's what I keep telling her." His head disappeared back inside.

Ron and Hermione turned away from the house and returned to their vigil of the sky. Suddenly Hermione grabbed Ron's arm and with her other hand pointed up. "Look," she said. "Do you see that?"

Ron squinted and a moment later he noticed a dot that seemed to be getting bigger. "Yeah," he answered. "Yeah, I do."

Hermione swallowed nervously and they heard more windows opening in the house behind them. The entire family watched Buckbeak's approach.

The hippogriff soared into the yard as gracefully as Hedwig had the kitchen the day before. Ron distantly heard Girard exclaim, "Ooh, Mummy!" followed by Fleur shushing the little boy. Buckbeak stopped about ten meters from Hermione and looked at her unfalteringly with his eagle eye. Remembering Hagrid's lessons from way back in third year, Ron and Hermione bowed. There was a pause and then Buckbeak bowed back.

They sighed in relief and started to move closer but Buckbeak snapped at Ron who instantly stopped in his tracks.

"Hey," he cried angrily, "I just want to help her up and say good-bye."

Buckbeak snapped once more in apparent warning and then turned to Hermione and bowed lower, clearly indicating she would not need help climbing up on his back.

They heard George mutter, "Seems he has his orders," from where he was standing in the kitchen doorway behind them.

"Nice," snarled Ron, curling his lip. He turned to Hermione and fussed with her cloak. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"I know."

"We could still find a flat somewhere."

"I know." Hermione smiled at Ron and he knew she would not change her mind.

"You be careful."

"I will, Ron. Don't worry."

"I still don't like this, Hermione. I don't like the idea of you flying off all alone like this."

"Somehow, I think he'll take good care of me," she said, indicating Buckbeak. Ron knew she sounded braver than she felt. He heard the very slight wobble in her voice and noticed how weak the smile she now gave him was.

"I really don't like that Harry would do this to you. You could have apparated or something."

"It's a test, Ron. If I don't do this, I'll fail." Hermione's smile grew stronger. "And we all know how I feel about failing, don't we?"

Ron snorted and tried to hide a grin as Hermione reached up and kissed him. "I don't think we should keep Buckbeak waiting," she said.

"All right." But Ron held on to Hermione and kissed her again more thoroughly. When they pulled apart Ron brushed the hair out of Hermione's face and said, "I love you."

"I love you too, and I'll be back before you know it."

Hermione waved to the faces in the windows as she headed off toward Buckbeak. Ron watched her climb gingerly up on the hippogriff's back. She looked at him and waved bravely. Ron gave her a half-hearted wave in return, his expression still stony.

Buckbeak turned quickly, took some running leaps and then extended his wings, beat them once and stepped up into the air.


	5. Chapter 5 Hermione's Flight

V

Hermione's Flight

Hermione did not know how long she and Buckbeak had been airborne. She would not dare unclench her white-knuckled fists from the hippogriff's feathers long enough to look at her watch.

At first she had tried closing her eyes. She had figured that if she could not see how high up they were and how small the buildings and people looked that it would not bother her as much. Rather like sleeping on the train, she had thought. She quickly learned, however, that it was not one of her more brilliant ideas. Buckbeak had flapped his wings shortly after she had shut her eyes and the sudden lurch, coupled with the disorientation of not being able to see, had almost unseated her.

After what seemed ages, Hermione finally thought they might be descending. A few minutes later she managed to stifle a scream as they nearly grazed a rooftop. Buckbeak then circled once before landing in a large garden. He bowed low again and Hermione gratefully slid off his back. She paused next to him with one hand on his side to steady herself and took some deep breaths. Buckbeak remained quietly where he was until she took a couple of steps away from him and then he stood and moved forward.

The instant Buckbeak started walking, Hermione saw the house appear between two others. Apparently the old Black house was still unplottable. As she gazed at the tall structure in front of her she realized they were at the back of the house. Walking towards it she thought Number Twelve Grimmauld Place looked shabbier than ever.

When they reached the back door Buckbeak pushed the doorbell with his beak and then politely stood aside so Hermione could stand at the door. She briefly wondered who had taught the hippogriff such good manners. She was pretty sure it had not been Harry.

The bell gonged throughout the house and had not quite finished when the door was flung open and Hermione saw…no one. She was puzzled until she looked down and was startled to see a beaming house elf standing on the threshold.

"Winky?" she asked in disbelief once recognition had set in.

If it was possible, Winky's smile grew. "Winky is very pleased to see Master's friend!"

Master? It was then that Hermione took in Winky's apparel. Gone were the clothes she had worn after her previous master had dismissed her. The house elf was once again clad in a tea towel and, for that matter, appeared to be sober.

"Come in, come in!"

The door opened wider and Hermione dazedly stepped into the kitchen followed by Buckbeak. As Winky was leading Hermione to the door that led upstairs, Hermione let her gaze wander around the spotless kitchen. There was a brief thought that Mrs. Weasley would have been proud and it was followed by the hope that Harry was at least paying Winky and not working her too hard.

"Master Harry Potter is awaiting his guest in the drawing room," stated Winky as they walked through the ground floor hallway. There were bare spots on the walls where all the old Black family portraits had once hung. Hermione glanced at the place where old Mrs. Black's portrait had been. Now, there was just a patch of wall that was slightly lighter from the wall around it and Hermione shuddered at the memory of the evil old witch's ghastly shrieking. As they reached the stairs, Hermione could not help thinking how gloomy the house seemed. The dirty gray walls and closed drapes that effectively blocked out the daylight did nothing to brighten the atmosphere.

On the first floor they stopped at the door to the drawing room and Winky paused. She nervously looked at Hermione. After what appeared to be a brief internal battle, Winky spoke. "Winky would like Master Harry Potter's friend to know that Winky is pleased she has come." Winky was now wringing her hands much as Hermione was known to do when distraught. "Master Harry Potter has been alone too long." Then with a small pop Winky disappeared.

It was Hermione's turn to feel anxious. She took a deep breath and, muttering to herself that it was only Harry after all, and she could do this, knocked on the door.

There was a moment of silence followed by a terse, "Come in."

After another deep breath, Hermione reached out, turned the handle and pushed open the door.

The gloom she had noticed in the hallway was nothing compared to that which filled the drawing room. Not only was the room engulfed in darkness but there was also a tense, angry feeling in the air. She noted that the room itself had not changed much since the days of the Order. The dingy furniture and heavy drapes and, even, the Black family tree tapestry were the same as she remembered.

Hermione's eyes were just beginning to adjust to the dim light, the result of a lone candle on a table next to the door, when they came to rest on Harry. She stifled a gasp as she took him in.

Harry was dressed simply in jeans, a black t-shirt, and trainers. His hair, while always messy and uncontrollable, now appeared to have forgotten what a comb was and there came an odor off of him that had Hermione involuntarily wrinkling her nose and wondering when he had last bathed. His face was thinner than she remembered and behind his glasses were the darkest circles under his eyes that she had ever seen on anyone. As for his eyes that had been so brilliantly green, the color seemed to have been leeched out of them and Hermione saw none of the life and spark she remembered but, rather, saw that they were filled with anger and pain and defiance as he stood in front of the tapestry glaring at her.

All of the words Hermione had rehearsed, her well-thought-out speeches, vanished like so much vapor as she stood quietly before this ghost that had once been her best friend.

It was Harry who broke the silence.

"So, Hermione," his tone was derisive and contemptuous and Hermione flinched in response. "I see you managed the flight."

This sneering comment brought Hermione out of her reverie. "Yes, I did. It was quite thoughtful of you to see to my transportation," she said sharply.

Something briefly glimmered in Harry's eyes as he looked at her appraisingly. She tilted her chin up at him defiantly and thought it was a bit like dealing with Malfoy in the old days.

"Well," said Harry, "then you won't mind the return trip." He sat down on an old settee that creaked under his weight. Leaning back, he thunked his feet on a table in front of him causing various small items including his wand and a pocket sneakoscope to jump and clatter noisily.

Stretching both arms wide and resting them on the back of the settee, Harry asked, "So, what was so damn important you had to see me?"

Hermione bristled. She was beginning to get more than slightly annoyed with Harry now. He had not even offered her a seat, apparently expecting her to just stand there throughout the interview, and he was gazing at her with an arrogance that again reminded her of Malfoy. She briefly wondered if she punched Harry if it would knock any more sense into him than it had when she had hit Malfoy. _Probably not_, she thought wryly.

Glaring at him, Hermione pulled out her wand and with a deft movement conjured up a cushiony armchair in which she proceeded to make herself comfortable before looking back at Harry. She was surprised to see him appear a bit discomfited at the sight of the chair.

Barging ahead while she still had the confidence, Hermione said, "Ron and I are getting married."

Harry's expression returned to one of contempt as he snorted. "It's about bloody time."

Hermione had a flashback to Fred making the same comment a few weeks ago. How different it had sounded.

"So that's what you _had_ to see me about then? That's what was so urgent?" Harry scoffed at Hermione. "You could have just told me that in one of your interminably long letters and saved my hippogriff a trip."

_Ron was right_, Hermione thought. _This is a stupid idea_. "You know what, Harry?" Hermione stood and vanished her chair. "Ron was right. There's no point in talking to you. You've just become a bitter old man in a young man's body. It would seem Voldemort won after all." Harry looked shaken at this and opened his mouth to reply but Hermione was angry and cut him off. "I hope you live a nice long life locked up all alone in this dreary old house with no one but Winky and Buckbeak and Hedwig to talk to. And, needless to say, you should know how I feel about Winky's presence!"

Hermione had now built up a full head of steam and she continued to berate Harry. "You think you're the only person in the world who matters and that no one else is important and that everyone should just feel so bloody sorry for the great Harry Potter. Well, I've got news for you." Hermione had not realized she had stepped forward until she was right in front of him and was pointing a finger directly in his face.

"No one really thinks about you anymore. No one except the people who've always loved you and tried to stand beside you no matter what was happening. Everyone else has gone on with the business of living while you just sit here day after day feeling sorry for yourself!"

Spinning on her heel, she stalked towards the door. She had her hand on the handle when there was a sigh behind her.

"Hermione." It was said quietly and with almost a tired pleading.

She paused but did not turn around.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Turning her head a little she said, "Ron and I wanted to ask you for a favor."

"Then why isn't Ron here, too?"

"He was sure you'd say no," Hermione admitted truthfully. Then she added, "And I think he's a little afraid of you." Looking back at Harry she saw the faintest shred of surprise.

"Why would he be afraid of me?"

Because you were so angry and you haven't written for over two years and he doesn't know the person you might have become." Hermione finally turned completely away from the door to again face Harry. "And besides," she added, "Buckbeak wouldn't have allowed it anyway."

At this Harry actually smiled and somewhere, deep in the pit of her stomach, Hermione felt the knot of apprehension that had been there since Hedwig had soared into the kitchen at the Burrow, begin to loosen.

Harry took his feet off the table and leaned forward. "Sit down, Hermione," he said. "Tell me what you want."

Slowly, Hermione walked to the center of the room and perched carefully on the edge of a chair that had definitely seen better days.

"So," said Harry once Hermione had sat down, "you and Ron are getting married."

"Yes." Hermione smiled. She couldn't help herself. She smiled every time she thought about marrying Ron.

"I'm happy for you," said Harry. "Honestly. I never knew two people who were more meant for each other."

Hermione thought she saw a flicker of sadness in Harry's eyes as he said this. She suspected he might be thinking about Luna but all she said was, "Thank you."

"Now," started Harry, seeming to shake himself together. "How can I help you?" He held up a hand before Hermione could answer. "And before you ask, I'm not coming to the wedding. I don't leave Grimmauld Place."

"Actually, we weren't going to ask you," Hermione replied, blushing in embarrassment at admitting to him that he was not invited. After all, they had known he would not come.

"You weren't?" asked Harry, startled.

"Er, no."

"What then?

"Well, we wanted to know if we could come live here for a while?" The knot in Hermione's stomach tightened again as she watched Harry's eyes narrow at the request.

"You want to live here?" Harry asked in disbelief. When Hermione nodded, he shook his head. "Why?"

"Well, I mean, we're just starting out together and we'd like to save some money," lied Hermione, "so we can get a decent place and well we, er, wondered if you would help us out?"

Harry looked astonished. He did not respond for a very long moment during which he ran a hand through his hair and looked around the room. Finally, looking back at Hermione, he asked, "Why can't you live at the Burrow and save money?"

"Well we, uh, are already living at the Burrow," Hermione responded in a small voice.

"So why do you want to come here? Hermione, I don't understand."

"Harry, do you remember how crowded it used to get at the Burrow when we would visit there in the summers? Particularly when we were there just before the Quidditch World Cup?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, it's that crowded now and more. Only it hasn't just been a temporary situation and it's been difficult for Ron and me. Ron gave up his room for Girard and he's been sleeping on the sofa and they're going to need room for this new baby and…" Hermione's voice trailed away and she looked at Harry rather desperately. She loved the Weasleys, each and every one of them, but she was tired of never being really alone with Ron. On the rare occasions they seemed to be alone it was always in the back of her mind that a Weasley could be just around the corner. Living with Harry had seemed a brilliant idea not only because they might help Harry but also because there would be more Ron-and-Hermione time.

There was another pause, as Harry seemed to be having a mental argument with himself. When he spoke he asked, "Who's Girard and why is he in Ron's room?"

Hermione smiled. "Bill and Fleur's son. And they're expecting another."

"That's the other baby you spoke of?" It seemed to be a struggle, but Harry's curiosity was clearly getting the better of him.

"No, Fred and Angelina's son. He's not quite a week old and they haven't named him yet. They were discussing 'Rupert' when Buckbeak arrived."

Harry made a face. "Rupert?"

Chuckling, Hermione said, "Yeah. That was Ron's reaction."

Harry sighed. "I don't know, Hermione. I've been alone for two years and I'm really not fit to live with." After a moment he added, "Besides, I think it's better if I'm alone."

"Do you?" she asked. "Do you really? Because you don't look like it suits you."

"I'm used to it," Harry said curtly. "And no matter what you think I still don't have any intention of leaving Grimmauld Place ever again."

"It's just Ron and me, Harry."

"But you'll bring the outside world with you," Harry replied rather desperately.

"Not if you don't want us to," Hermione reassured.

Harry frowned. "Yes, you will. You'll talk about your jobs and family and friends. That's what I mean by the outside world and I don't want it here."

"Then we won't talk about those things around you." Hermione had felt she was starting to get somewhere and while she did not want to push so hard that Harry would send her away with a firm and resounding "NO," neither did she want to back down now.

"I don't know. I just don't know, Hermione."

Hermione sat quietly; waiting with her breath held.

Harry got up and walked over to the wall where the tapestry hung slightly askew. He looked at it long and hard and ran a hand through his hair again. When he spoke it was not to Hermione.

"Winky!" he yelled, causing Hermione to jump.

There was a pop and Winky appeared in the middle of the drawing room. "Yes, Master?" she asked.

"Get Buckbeak back outside. My guest will be leaving shortly."

Hermione's heart sank. Now she was just his guest. Harry turned to look at her and she did not bother to try and hide her disappointment.

"I can't give you an answer right now, Hermione. I'll have to think about it."

He was going to think about it! Hermione felt a surge of hope run through her but she managed to contain it for fear that if Harry saw it he might decide now and decide against her request.

"Thank you, Harry," she said. She wanted to hug him and took a step forward but she saw Harry stiffen and take a step back so she merely said thank you again and quietly left the room.

In the hallway she met Winky who led her down the stairs. Winky was again beaming at Hermione. At the door Buckbeak bowed and Hermione climbed up on his back. After another frightening running start they leapt up into the sky.

Bravely, Hermione risked a glance back toward Grimmauld Place. If she did not know any better she would have sworn she saw Harry peering out an upstairs window at her with a pensive look on his face.


	6. Chapter 6 Rules

VI

Rules

"Hermione, we have got to pick a date," said Ron exasperatedly.

Sighing, Hermione said, "I know, Ron. It's just that I thought we would have heard from Harry by now and I don't think we should set a date if we don't know where we're going to live."

"Hermione," Ron took her hand across the kitchen table. "I don't think we're going to hear from Harry."

"That's what you said when we first wrote to him," Hermione gently reminded him. "Besides, he said he would think about it. He has to give us an answer one way or the other," she insisted.

"I don't think he's going to."

Hermione signed again. "You used to have more faith in Harry."

"It's been three weeks!" Ron exclaimed loudly. There was a shushing sound from the living room and Ron glared at the doorway. He wished babies would actually go to sleep when they were supposed to. Not to mention, he didn't make shushing noises when crying babies and other noisy relatives were keeping _him_ awake.

Lowering his voice, he continued, "Anyway, this is different. This isn't the Harry I knew. The Harry I knew disappeared the night the war ended."

"Disappeared down a hallway," Hermione muttered.

"What?"

Hermione gave herself a mental shake and smiled at Ron. "Nothing. I'm sorry, Ron. You're right. Let's fix a date."

Ron smiled back. "We can come back here after our honeymoon and stay only as long as it takes to make arrangements for somewhere else."

"I know," she said. But Hermione admitted to herself that while it didn't matter where they lived as long as they were together, she was also disappointed that Harry had seemingly let them down by not even doing her the courtesy of sending her an owl with his decision.

After much thought and consideration, Ron and Hermione chose the day of the summer solstice for their wedding. As soon as the date was set Mrs. Granger demanded her daughter give her at least a full day devoted to dress shopping.

Hermione had read her mother's letter aloud to Ron who had rolled his eyes. Hermione, who was not much more excited about this event than Ron was, had sighed.

"I suppose," she had said resignedly, "since I'm not having the big wedding she always imagined, I should at least let her have a day for dress shopping. I do have to find something, anyway."

Ron had grunted. "I reckon you'll want me to be all dressed in Muggle finery."

Smiling, Hermione said, "At the very least, Ron, I expect you to be wearing very fine dress robes."

Narrowing his eyes, Ron said, "Define 'very fine.'"

"Let me put it this way, Ron," she answered, patting Ron's cheek. "If you look at them and wonder whether or not I'll like them, then they aren't good enough."

Ron pulled a face and took his turn to sigh as Hermione removed her hand from his face. "I guess I ought to make this Saturday a shopping day as well, then."

"That," said Hermione, "sounds like a very good idea." She got up from the kitchen table to respond to her mother's letter.

"Hermione," said Ron, his voice stopping her in the doorway.

Turning around Hermione asked, "Yes?"

"Would you do me a favor?"

"What's that?"

"Don't get a dress that's all poufy and frilly and…" Ron trailed off as words failed him.

"What are you saying, Ron?" Hermione wasn't sure she really wanted to know where Ron's train of thought had been headed.

There was an expression of what seemed to be indecision on Ron's face, as he seemed to be searching for words. Finally he blurted, "Just don't get a dress because it's what's your mum wants. I don't want you to look like—" Ron stopped suddenly and turned red.

"A meringue?" Hermione asked, swallowing a smile.

The color in Ron's face deepened a bit. "Well, yeah," he said quietly. "I just, well, I just want you to look like you."

Hermione smiled broadly. She thought it was quite possibly the sweetest thing he had ever said to her. "I'll do my best," was all she said before leaving the room.

Hermione felt that she had never been so irritated with her mother as she was by the afternoon of the shopping trip. By lunch they had been to two bridal shops where Mrs. Granger had picked out the fussiest and most startlingly overdone dresses for Hermione to try on. Hermione barely had a chance to even look for something on her own as the minute they had walked into each shop there were sales clerks waiting to pounce and as soon as they did Mrs. Granger, holding Hermione tightly by the arm, told the helpful ladies what she was looking for.

By the time they entered the sixth shop, late in the afternoon, Mrs. Granger was out of sorts at the idea that her daughter might, indeed, be married in dress robes and Hermione had a splitting headache from the constant teeth-clenching she had been doing since late morning.

The first difference Hermione noticed as she and her mother entered The Nuptial Nook was that there were no eager saleswomen in sight. Mrs. Granger immediately began "oohing" and "ahhing" over a gown on display and, as her eyes darted around the shop seeking sales help, Hermione slipped quietly to the back of the store to browse through the sample racks.

Mrs. Granger had finally found a shop assistant and, as Hermione listened to her mother discussing her woes at their ever finding the right dress, Hermione pulled a sample off the rack and escaped into a fitting room. There she tried the dress on; taking her time with the numerous fabric covered buttons that ran halfway up her back.

This was the dress.

It didn't have beads, sequins, tulle, a plunging neckline, a plunging backline, a large bow on the bum, a ten-foot train or feathers. (Hermione shuddered at the memory of that dress. It had been her mother's favorite, thus far.) It wasn't frothy or slinky or daring, but it was exactly what she wanted.

Hermione looked in the mirror and thought of Ron seeing her in this dress. Not only would the word 'meringue' never enter his head but, hopefully, he would find himself at a complete loss for words.

As Hermione was imaging the myriad expressions she might see on Ron's face, she heard her mother calling her.

"Hermione? Dear, I've got some dresses for you to try on." Stepping out of the fitting room, Hermione greeted her mother and saw her frown. "Well, that's different."

"I know," said Hermione happily. "And it's just what I've been looking for."

"What? That?"

"Yes." Hermione smiled brightly and turned to look in the three-way mirrors that were placed around the outside of the fitting rooms.

"But, Hermione—"

"Yes?" she asked distractedly.

"It's _pink_."

"I know. But not very." Hermione turned back to face her mother and the material made a soft swishing sound that almost had practical, no-nonsense Hermione swooning. She stood quietly as Mrs. Granger stepped back to take a good look.

The dress was made of a pale pink satin organza and was sleeveless with a modest v-neckline in both the front and back. The pink was further muted by an overlay of embroidered lace that just reached the floor in a gentle scalloped pattern; a sash of pink organza gathered at the waist.

Mrs. Granger finished her perusal of the dress and looked at Hermione's beaming face. "You're sure?" she asked. Hermione nodded.

"Well," sighed her mother, "if that's the one."

"Oh, it is, Mum. It is."

Ron put off his own shopping trip for as long as he could. When he finally ran out of excuses, and Fleur and Angelina, aware of where he was really supposed to be, pushed him out the door, he made his way to Diagon Alley.

For several long moments he stood in front of Madame Malkin's just staring at the sign. With a deep breath he finally stepped into the shop. Madame Malkin must have been having a slow day. As Ron's eyes adjusted from the brightness outside, the shop's proprietress hurried towards him.

"And what can I help you with today?" she asked brightly.

"Er, well, I'm meeting my brother here." The idea had suddenly occurred to him and he hoped it would enable him to leave and come back later. For some reason he felt quite nervous about buying robes for his wedding.

Just then the little bell over the door tinkled and Ron sighed in relief. Another customer would take Madame Malkin away from him and he could just look around and take his time thinking.

"Ron!" boomed an altogether too familiar voice and he grimaced as the voice continued. "I thought I saw you come in here."

Ron and Madame Malkin both turned to see George grinning and striding toward them.

Ron swore mentally but said aloud, "Uh, hi, George."

"Is this the brother you were waiting for?" asked Madame Malkin.

George, seeming to take in the slightly green tint to Ron's complexion, slapped his brother on the shoulder and said, "Yes, that would be me! Now, what are we looking for, again?"

With his brother and Madame Malkin both looking at him expectantly, Ron finally managed, "Dress robes."

Madame Malkin appeared satisfied and said, "Ah, dress robes. And may I ask what the occasion is?" She was starting toward the section of the shop where the dress robes were kept.

When Ron didn't answer right away, George stepped in. "For his wedding, I believe," he said.

Truly excited now, Madam Malkin clasped her hands together in front of her and said, "Oh, how wonderful! Just come this way."

As they followed Madame Malkin, Ron muttered to George, "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Fred told me to keep an eye out for you. It seems Fleur and Angelina knew you were supposed to be doing this today and when you seemed to be hanging around the Burrow they got concerned you wouldn't follow through. What's the problem, anyway?"

Ron mumbled something George did not catch as they stopped behind Madam Malkin, who was pulling things from a rack and flinging them over her arm.

"Sorry, mate, what was that?" prodded George.

Glaring at his brother, Ron said, "I'm afraid I'm going to pick something Hermione will hate."

Madame Malkin heard Ron's comment and stopped sifting through robes to look at him. "Nonsense, my dear," she harrumphed. "We'll make sure you get something your fiancée will love."

"Yeah," added George. "After all, she's getting you. She can't be that picky."

Ron shot another nasty look at George as Madame Malkin thrust an armful of robes in Ron's arms and bustled him off to the fitting area.

The first set of robes Ron tried on came to just below his knees while the sleeves landed somewhere mid-arm. George was overcome by gales of laughter when Ron claimed he felt like a giraffe in a midget's clothing.

The second set of robes overcompensated and Ron tripped as he left the fitting room. While the third set fit more or less okay, they were made of a fabric that shimmered gold when Ron moved. George seemed interested in these but Ron was not too keen on them and, in addition to the fact that they also made him itch, he knew Hermione would hate them.

Ron trudged back into the fitting room where he was rewarded with robes covered in ruffles. He didn't even bother coming out in those and shuddered at the flashback to the Yule Ball he had attended in fourth year.

Madame Malkin handed another set over the door to Ron and he came out grimacing. "Maroon!" he exclaimed. "I _hate_ maroon!"

Tsking at Ron, Madame Malkin said, "Your mother would have loved those."

Ron looked surprised and George ceased laughing. "What?" asked Ron.

"Molly always thought you looked wonderful in that color," said Madame Malkin. "She used to tell me, 'Ronnie hates this color but I don't think he has any idea how good he looks in it.'"

Chagrined, Ron looked at George. The truth was he had heard his mother tell him on more than one occasion that she thought maroon looked good on him. He had just never been able to get past the fact that he truly hated the color to care how it actually looked on him. Ron felt a twinge of sadness at this blatant reminder of the fact that his mother was not here and would not be sharing in his wedding day.

Ron turned back to Madame Malkin. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Do you have anything a little _less_ maroon?"

The storeowner was thoughtful for a moment. Ron began to feel nervous as she stood with her arms crossed in front of her and tapped the fingers of one hand on the other arm.

Finally, she said, "Wait here," and disappeared through a door at the back of the shop. A few minutes later she returned with a bundle in her arms and handed it to Ron. "Try these," she said, guiding him back to the fitting room.

Without a word Ron took the bundle and went to change. When he came out the expression on his face told Madame Malkin and George that he had found what he was looking for.

The robes were a stoic black made of a very fine material Ron could not identify. They were lined with maroon and on the outside had maroon piping edging the collar and cuffs.

Ron looked in the mirror. They were perfect. He had not only chosen robes that Hermione could not object to, but by wearing the maroon he would be paying tribute to his mother and, in a way, making sure she was at his wedding after all.

"I'll take them," he said confidently.

Behind him Madame Malkin beamed and George nodded.

Fleur had recently been cooking up a storm as she had volunteered to make all the food for the reception. As the wedding was so small, there would only be hors d'oeuvres and a sweet table and Fleur, who was doing most of the work herself and had proven to be quite a good cook, had conscripted Angelina into helping her when necessary. They both said they were delighted to be making this contribution to Ron and Hermione's wedding.

As a result of this Ron was often tempted by the tantalizing smells in the kitchen while Hermione would look after baby Alaric, the name Fred and Angelina had finally agreed upon, so Angelina could be freed up to assist Fleur.

A few days before the wedding, Ron was in the kitchen in the guise of getting a glass of water. He had managed to nick several tasty morsels by the time he heard Hermione's voice coming down the kitchen staircase.

"Ron. Ron!"

He looked up the stairs and, trying to be discreet because he was still chewing, called, "What is it?"

"An owl."

Swallowing, he asked, "An owl?"

He became a bit concerned when he saw a somewhat frantic expression cross Hermione's face as she hissed, "Hedwig!"

Understanding dawned and Ron raced up the stairs. As Hermione walked back into her room holding Alaric, whom she had clearly been trying to get to go to sleep, he asked, "What did he say?"

"I don't know. I came to get you right away. Besides," she added, "my hands are rather full right now."

Ron looked briefly at his nephew and smiled before going to get the letter tied to Hedwig's leg. After he had removed it, the owl continued standing patiently on Hermione's desk. Apparently, Harry required an answer.

The couple exchanged glances as Ron opened the letter and read it aloud.

_Dear Hermione and Ron, _

_After careful consideration I have decided that you can come and stay at Grimmauld Place after your wedding for as long as you like. This is, of course, contingent on your willingness to follow the rules I have set down. Please send word with Hedwig as to your acceptance of this condition and when I can expect you. _

_Congratulations. _

_  
Harry_

"Bloody hell!" said Ron in amazement. "He said yes."

Hermione nudged Ron with her elbow. "Let's see what the other page says," she indicated a second sheet of parchment and Ron shuffled it on top of the first.

Ron's expression turned to one of disbelief and then disgust as he scanned the parchment and he sat heavily down in the chair before Hermione's desk. He felt Hermione move behind him and look over his shoulder.

Rules

We will not take meals together. The kitchen is Winky's domain—I have offered several times to pay her, Hermione. She is affronted and refuses each time—and she is happy to do all the cooking. You may choose to take your meals either in your rooms or the kitchen but I will take mine elsewhere. Don't even ask.

If you choose to take the _Daily Prophet_ please see to it that the delivery is not made in my presence. Directly to your rooms is the most preferable. Also, do not leave the _Prophet_ where I may see it.

You are not to invite me to share in anything you do. Not chess games or conversation or _anything_.

And so the list went. There were twenty-seven items in all and they appeared to have been written down in no particular order other than as Harry thought of them. Finally, Ron leaned back in the chair and looked wearily up into Hermione's somber face. After a moment of indecision where he wondered if he really ought to just beg her to let them forget about this, he asked, "Do you still want to try this?" When Hermione nodded, Ron sighed. "Fine," he said. "I'll _try_ to follow these ridiculous rules."

"It may not be for too long, Ron. He may mellow out a bit after awhile. We could really have an influence on Harry's life," said Hermione positively.

"How?" Ron asked doubtfully. "If we live like this," he raised the parchment, "we'll never even see Harry to influence him in anything."

"We just need to give him time," said Hermione firmly.

Ron snorted. "Yeah, right. Like he hasn't had enough time to sort things out on his own."

"Ron," Hermione reprimanded.

"Okay!"

Hermione smiled at Ron's indignation and then asked him, "Would you mind very much writing our answer? My hands are _still_ rather full."

Ron looked at Alaric. The infant was now sleeping peacefully in Hermione's arms and he found himself smiling at the image. He raised up from the chair just enough to kiss Hermione on the cheek. "I like that picture," he said, watching her face turn pink as she cast him a silly smile of her own.

Turning back to the desk, Ron gathered supplies to write a letter to Harry acknowledging his stupid rules. Dipping a quill into ink he wrote, "Dear Harry." He took a moment to look at those words on the parchment. He used to write them with some frequency yet now it felt so strange to see them before him in his own handwriting.

Pulling himself together Ron dipped the quill a second time and as he wrote he thought, _When he kept referring to rooms plural he damn well better not have meant he's giving me and Hermione separate bedrooms._

The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear. George had arrived early to help Fred set up the few chairs that would be needed in the garden. From her open window Hermione could hear them talking as she packed the remainder of her belongings. Harry had agreed to send Buckbeak late in the afternoon to pick up Hermione and Ron's things. While Hermione wondered how Harry had managed to convince Buckbeak to take on the role of pack mule, she also hoped he would be okay with all her books. She had shrunk them as much as she could so she could fit them all into a relatively small number of boxes, four, but as a result the boxes were very heavy.

She had just finished stuffing the last box shut and was about to cast a lightening charm on it when she heard George ask Fred a question.

"Are they really going to live with the infamously reclusive Harry Potter?"

"So they say, George."

Hermione bit her lip. She knew she shouldn't eavesdrop. It was wrong and people never heard good things when they did it. On the other hand, she couldn't help wondering what everyone was thinking regarding the living situation she and Ron were going into. Deciding Ron and Harry had definitely been bad influences on her during her formative teenage years, she crept to the window and peered over the sill.

Fred and George had finished with the chairs and were leaning against the side of the house.

"Why?" asked George incredulously.

"Dunno why," responded Fred. "I don't know what they were thinking. Everything was fine. They were finally engaged and then suddenly, out of nowhere, Hedwig shows up and Harry's sending Buckbeak to the Burrow to take Hermione to Grimmauld Place."

"Bet Ron was upset about that," said George.

"Livid," replied Fred. "Then the next thing we know, a few days ago, they tell us they're going to live with Harry at Grimmauld Place after the wedding. I have no idea what they're thinking. Especially with all those rules Harry is demanding they follow. They tried to keep that to themselves but I knew something was up and I nicked the list the other morning when they went off to work."

Hermione stifled a gasp. No one was supposed to know about that.

"What kind of rules?"

"Oh, ridiculous tripe like, not talking about any friends or relatives or coworkers or anyone in front of Harry. They can't invite anyone over nor can they pass invitations from others on to Harry. They can't discuss their daily activities in front of him. The list even said they can't talk about what they had for lunch if Harry's around."

George gasped. "Poor Ron!"

Fred continued, ticking things off on his fingers as he went. "No discussions about the war, no asking Harry questions about the final battle, no mentioning the names of people who died…"

"He's mental!" exclaimed George, sounding an awful lot like Ron. "What kind of a life is that for newlyweds? They can't talk to each other at all if they're in Harry's presence and if they're not in Harry's presence they probably won't be doing much talking."

Up in her window Hermione felt her face suffuse with heat as she blushed furiously at that last comment.

"They could keep living here," Fred added somewhat belligerently. "At least they'd be able to speak freely."

"Yeah," agreed George, "but they wouldn't be able to do anything else freely. Face it, Fred. Between you and Bill producing little Weasleys there's not a whole lot of room left here for young newlyweds."

Fred sighed. "Yeah, I know. There's not that much room for all us old married folk either." There was a pause in the conversation before Fred asked, "So, who did you decide to bring today? Katie or Alicia?"

Hermione smiled. George really needed to choose soon.

This time George sighed. "Neither," he said.

"What?"

"Katie found out I was seeing Alicia and had a talk with her and then they both came after me." George's voice sounded a bit weary as Fred laughed.

"I told you, mate! I told you you needed to pick one!"

"I know. All of you told me. But I just couldn't choose! They're both so great!"

"Well, George. Now comes the hard part."

"What's that?"

"Deciding which one you can't live without and trying hard as hell to get her back," counseled Fred.

"And if I'm too long deciding…" George's voice trailed off as he realized what would happen at the point.

"Yup."

There was another pause before Fred said, "Come on. Let's go find that adorable kid of mine. Maybe that'll help you figure it out."

"How's that going to help?"

"Think about who you'd rather your kids look like: Katie or Alicia."

The last thing Hermione heard before they disappeared into the house was George saying, "I'd rather they looked like _me_."

Hermione stifled a giggle at this last comment but then quickly sobered as she thought about what the twins had said about her and Ron going to Grimmauld Place. Were she and Ron making a mistake going to live at Grimmauld Place? She thought she had looked at it from every angle and, even after almost losing Ron, it had still seemed like a feasible idea—even with those blasted rules. But hearing the twins talking about it, she began to wonder if everyone thought she and Ron were, well, mental.

Suddenly Hermione had to talk to Ron. She put on her dressing gown and slipped up the stairs to Ron's old room in the attic. Girard had been temporarily moved back in with Bill and Fleur until after the wedding in order to give Ron a small space where he could be alone to get ready.

Quietly, Hermione pushed the door open. Ron was kneeling on his old childhood bed and gazing out the window that overlooked the gravel drive leading to the broom shed. He seemed to be thinking very hard about something. "Ron?" Hermione said softly.

He turned to look at her and smiled. Hermione's stomach flip-flopped the way it always did when Ron looked at her with that lopsided grin of his. Holding a hand out to her Ron asked, "Hermione, what is it?" When she didn't answer right away his smile faded and his brow furrowed.

Hermione walked towards Ron and took his outstretched hand. She sat down next to him, gave a shaky smile and asked, "Are we doing the right thing?"

Ron's expression became one of panic and all he could stammer out was, "Hermione! Wh-what do you mean?"

"I mean," Hermione clarified, "should we go to Grimmauld Place after our honeymoon or come back here?"

Ron grasped Hermione's hand more tightly, closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. When he opened them again he looked at Hermione and said fiercely, "Don't _ever_ to that to me again!"

Confused for a moment Hermione wondered what on earth Ron could mean by that. Then, realization dawned. She had phrased that rather badly.

"I'm sorry, Ron!" she exclaimed. "So sorry! That wasn't what I meant!"

"I know that now, love," said Ron, the endearment flowing off his tongue and giving Hermione a shiver. "Now, while my heart returns to its normal rhythm, why don't you tell me what's really on your mind."

"Well," Hermione bit her lip. "I overheard Fred and George talking…" She trailed off when Ron laughed.

"That was your first mistake."

Smiling, she continued. "Ron, I just started to doubt my plan. Maybe this isn't what we should be doing. And with the rules and everything...Did you know Fred got a look at them?"

Ron frowned. "Yeah, he mentioned it to me. I told him to bugger off. It's none of his business."

"So, you haven't changed your mind?"

"Hermione, you know I didn't think this was a good idea in the first place."

Hermione had no answer to that. Ron had fought her every step of the way on this plan but had given in to her whims each time. She should have listened to him.

"But," Ron said. "I've been thinking as well. You and I have survived a lot together. If we could get through the department of mysteries, Viktor and Lavender, and everything else, we can survive living with our best friend. I think you may be right. Maybe we can help him. And if we can't, we move on knowing that we tried."

Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes and she sniffed. "Whoever thought," she whispered softly, "you'd be the voice of reason?"

Ron chuckled quietly and kissed her. When he pulled away he said, "I have to surprise you every now and then."

She laughed and said, "Promise me you'll never stop."

With a glimmer of amusement in his eyes Ron replied, "Isn't that what this day is all about?" Hermione laughed again and Ron suddenly jumped off the bed. "I have something for you," he said. "And I reckon now is as good a time as any to give it to you."

He walked across the room and reached into the pocket of his dress robes that were hanging neatly from a pipe near the ceiling. When he came back he was carrying a small black box. "Now, I know you said you didn't want an engagement ring," he started.

"Ron, you didn't. I told you—"

"So!" Ron cut her off. "I didn't get you one." He handed her the box. "Open it."

Giving Ron a sideways look of suspicion, Hermione slowly opened the box. Nestled inside was a pendant on a white gold chain. The pendant was a circle of diamonds and just inside the top part of the circle was a larger diamond.

When Hermione did not move or speak, Ron gently took the box away from her and removed the necklace. "The circle," he explained, opening the clasp, "represents our love eternal. While the bigger diamond is the one that would have been in your engagement ring if you had allowed me to give you one."

Ron reached around Hermione and put the necklace on her. She touched it gingerly and felt her eyes well with tears again. She had never imagined she would spend the morning of her wedding crying so incessantly. She was much too practical for that. Ron leaned forward and tapped the larger diamond on the pendant. "This was Mum's," he said smiling. "It was in her engagement ring. There were many times she almost sold it. Eventually, after all us kids, she couldn't wear it anymore because it didn't fit so she really was going to sell it but Dad found out and hid it. When he learned we were getting married he gave the ring to me and I had it remade after you said you didn't want a ring."

Hermione threw her arms around Ron's neck. "Do you have any idea how special this is?" she asked crying.

Ron returned her embrace and said, "Well, it is a wedding gift so I do have some idea."

Hermione laughed, pulled away and said, "I have something for you, too." With that she ran from the room and down the stairs to her room where she grabbed a box off her desk and raced back up the stairs. Ron was right where she had left him.

"Here," she said, holding out the box.

Smiling, Ron took the box and said, "You didn't have to get me anything."

"Neither did you, now open it."

As Hermione settled herself back on the bed next to him, she watched his face while he opened the box. His expression became one of amazement and then one of joy. Inside was a gold pocket watch with various engravings on the outside cover. They were all of things Ron loved including Quidditch images, an engraving of a knight chess piece and, almost hidden in the background, a mountain troll. Ron gently removed the watch from the box and opened the cover. He gasped as he saw the face of the watch. There was only one hand and it had Hermione's name on it. Around the sides, where the numbers would be were words such as, traveling, work, and home.

"You'll always know where I am," said Hermione.

"This is brilliant."

"And," continued Hermione, "eventually, if needed, additional hands can be added."

Ron grinned broadly when he realized what she had meant by that and he gathered her up into a fierce hug. "I love you, Hermione. And this is absolutely perfect."

* * *

_Author's Note: I hope you're all enjoying this story so far. I have up to eight chapters written and should be uploading chapter seven soon. I am hard at work on chapter nine and hope to finish it shortly. Thanks to all have read and reviewed. Your kind words are greatly appreciated!_


	7. Chapter 7 The Wedding

VII

The Wedding

Hermione stood nervously just inside the kitchen door of the Burrow. She was unconsciously wringing her hands and, at the moment, was oblivious to the fact she was also holding a bouquet. It was not until her father gently removed the flowers from her hands, that Hermione realized what she had done. She gasped in horror when she saw a mangled rose and some lily of the valley stems that were now missing their bell-shaped flowers.

Eyes wide, she looked at her father who simply smiled quietly at her while he handed the bouquet over to Hermione's bridesmaid. "I can't believe I did that!" she finally managed to get out.

When Mr. Granger continued to do no more than smile indulgently, Hermione turned to Brenna who said, "Don't worry, Hermione. No one's going to notice."

Brenna was Hermione's only first cousin and, in the absence of Ginny Weasley, Hermione had asked Brenna to be her bridesmaid. Though the two were four years apart in age, they had spent a great deal of quality time together as children during family holidays. She was also the only family member other than Hermione's parents who knew she was a witch. It was something Hermione had finally divulged the summer between third and fourth year when she was trying to explain why she was leaving the coast earlier than everyone else to go to a sporting event. Brenna was not a girl who enjoyed sports but she did feel she was rather worldly and kept asking what the event was. "I haven't heard about anything big going on," she kept saying. "What sport is it?"

Tired of lying, Hermione had finally given in and said exasperatedly, "Quidditch."

There was a pause and then Brenna said, "I'm sorry? Is that something real and you're trying to make me feel small by showing me how smart you are, or are you just trying to make me think I'm an idiot by making something up?"

"It's a real sport but you've never heard of it because you're a Muggle."

Another pause. "I'm a _what_?"

Once Brenna had finally realized Hermione was not toying with her, she had started showing a real interest and asking lots of questions and the two girls had spent the rest of the afternoon on the warm beach discussing Hermione's 'talents,' her school, and, oddly for Hermione, Quidditch.

While their lives had become quite divergent as they had grown up and become fully enmeshed in their separate worlds, Hermione and Brenna had managed to stay in touch. About a year earlier Brenna had gotten married and Hermione had stood up in her wedding, bringing Ron as her guest and introducing him to her cousin for the first time. Brenna had been quite impressed with Ron and every time they would talk after that she would ask about him and what Hermione's plans were for the two of them. Brenna was another person who had simply smiled and said, "It's about time," when told of the impending nuptials and she had readily agreed to be Hermione's bridesmaid when asked.

"I have only one request, though," Brenna had said at the time.

"What's that?" asked Hermione.

"Let me do your hair."

"What?" Even though she knew Brenna was a hair stylist, this still caught Hermione by surprise. Up to that point she had not given any thought as to what she would do with her hair.

"Please?" Brenna begged.

"Well, all right," Hermione had conceded.

Shortly after Ron and Hermione had exchanged their gifts that morning, Brenna had arrived at the Burrow with Hermione's parents. Mr. Weasley who had met the three in Ottery St. Catchpole had escorted them. He would be returning later for the rest of Hermione's mother's guests.

Brenna had immediately gone to work on Hermione's hair while Mrs. Granger, assured her daughter was in good hands, had wandered around the kitchen asking Fleur about the various hors d'oeuvres and where the cake was. In what seemed like no time, Brenna had worked Muggle styling magic on Hermione's bushy brown hair. She had amazingly smoothed it out and swept the hair from around Hermione's face back up onto the crown of her head where it was gathered into a clip adorned with the same roses Hermione had just been shredding. The rest of her hair fell into soft curls around her shoulders and half way down her back. Hermione had looked in the mirror and gasped. She did not think even Sleekeazy's could have tamed her hair so well.

"This can't be me," she had told Brenna.

"You look beautiful, Hermione," Brenna had reassured her.

"Which is why it can't be me!" Hermione insisted.

"Hermione," chided Brenna.

"Brenna," Hermione almost wailed, "Ron won't recognize me!"

Smiling, Brenna had met Hermione's eyes in the mirror that had, surprisingly, been quiet thus far. "Of course he will, Hermione. Ron loves you. This is how he _always_ sees you."

Hermione's eyes had misted as the mirror finally spoke up. "She's right, dearie," it said as Brenna's eyes widened. It was one thing knowing her cousin was a witch but it was quite another to see her world in action.

Now, Brenna smiled reassuringly at Hermione while keeping what remained of the bouquet safe. Hermione looked from her father to her cousin. She simply could not understand why the two of them seemed so quiet and at ease when her world was turning upside down. Honestly, she was about to be married and they were acting like it was no big deal!

"Deep breath, Hermione," said her father.

Hermione obeyed and, closing her eyes, breathed in deeply. She held her breath for a few seconds and then slowly let it out. "Take another one," Mr. Granger encouraged and Hermione complied. After a few minutes, Hermione felt her equilibrium return to almost normal―it couldn't be completely normal on a day like this―and she opened her eyes.

"Feel better?" asked her father.

She nodded and turned to Brenna who handed the flowers back to her. Hermione idly picked at the damaged rose for a moment before saying, "But I don't think this flower is doing as well."

Brenna and Mr. Granger both laughed and Hermione's father seemed to feel this was the moment to talk to his daughter. "It's almost time," he said.

Giving a nervous laugh, Hermione said, "I know."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "I am now."

"That's my girl," said Mr. Granger, smiling. "You know," he continued almost shyly, "your mother and I love you very much, Hermione."

Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes and she tried to blink them back. Brenna had also done her makeup and it would not do to have Muggle mascara leaving black streaks down her face. "I love you, too, Daddy," she squeaked, "and Mum."

Mr. Granger gave his daughter a moment to compose herself and then continued. "You know we would do anything for you. If we didn't feel this marriage was right, we would do everything possible to stop it." Hermione blinked. She had never heard her father say anything like this before. "But," he went on, "we believe Ron is whom you were meant to be with and we couldn't be happier the two of you are getting married."

Hermione almost lost her composure at this, Muggle mascara be damned, but just then the sound of the string quartet her mother had insisted upon, came through the doorway. Forgetting she had been about to cry, Hermione's eyes widened as she looked at her father.

It was time.

Hermione was almost startled as Brenna abruptly turned her toward the door. Mr. Granger held out his arm to his daughter and, with a big smile, Hermione took it. Calm and composed on her father's arm, Hermione stepped out the back door of the Burrow as Brenna trailed behind.

The sun was shining brightly as Hermione made her way across the Weasley's back garden but a sudden burst of additional light in her eyes caught her totally by surprise. She briefly stopped walking as she blinked away the spots caused by the flash from Colin Creevey's camera. Now a professional photographer, Colin had been Ron and Hermione's first choice to take the pictures of their wedding. After all, they had seen plenty of his previous work.

When her vision cleared, Hermione and her father resumed their walk and Hermione took advantage of their slow pace to look around the garden. On her right was the family she was only officially gaining through her marriage to Ron—truthfully, they had already been her family for many years now. On Hermione's left was her mother who was doing her best to keep from weeping. Hermione also saw her mother's three maiden aunts as well as Brenna's husband, Gilbert , who had glanced once at Hermione and then shifted his gaze to his wife.

Looking forward, Hermione saw Hestia Jones, the ministry official who would be performing the ceremony. At their first meeting, Hestia, long known to them as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, had told Hermione and Ron that when she had seen their names on the list of marriages for this day she had quickly and eagerly put herself down as their officiate. She could think of no couple she would rather marry and their pre-marriage counseling had been merely a formality. Hermione liked the idea of being married by someone she knew. Mrs. Granger, on the other hand, had been quite upset with her daughter when informed that a witch, rather than the vicar who had christened Hermione as a baby, would perform the wedding. After many arguments, Mrs. Granger had finally relented when told the vicar would have no memory of it anyway, as he would have to have his memory modified in order to preserve the safety of the wizarding world.

Hermione's eyes finally lighted on Ron. He was standing quietly next to Hestia and gazing at his fiancée with that goofy grin of his that made Hermione's heart and knees melt. She felt her own smile growing in response. Beyond that, Hermione barely registered George as he stood in his place as Ron's best man.

The music stopped as they reached Hestia and Ron. Hermione turned and kissed her father's cheek and then took a last step forward on her own.

There was a pause as Hestia looked fondly at Ron and Hermione and then she spoke. "Welcome to all who are here to celebrate and witness as Ron and Hermione declare their intentions towards one another and are united in the bonds of love."

"Marriage," she continued, "is a sacred bond between two people and is to be entered into only after considerable thought and reflection. As with any aspect of life, it has its cycles: its ups and downs, its trials and triumphs. With this understanding, Ron and Hermione have come here today to be joined together in marriage."

Hermione glanced at Ron. His eyes were sparkling as he looked at her and she felt as though she could drown in the love she saw there. She smiled back at him and shyly glanced down before returning her gaze to the witch in front of her.

"Do you, Ron," asked Hestia, "come here of your own free will to seek union with Hermione?"

Ron answered immediately in a strong and sure voice, "I come here of my own free will and desire."

"Do you pledge that this union will be one of perfect love and trust?"

"I do so pledge."

Hestia turned to Hermione. "Do you, Hermione, come here of your own free will to seek union with Ron?"

"I come here of my own free will and desire," said Hermione. She knew the words. They had gone over them often enough. But, it was different, now that they were saying them for real and not merely rehearsing them. She thought of the word desire and tried to remember whose suggestion it had been. Briefly she felt her cheeks turn pink.

"Do you pledge that this union will be one of perfect love and trust?"

"I do so pledge," said Hermione.

Hestia looked up past Ron and Hermione and asked, "With whom does this woman come and whose blessings accompany her?"

Hermione and Ron both turned as Mr. Granger, still standing behind them, spoke, "She comes with her mother and me and our blessings accompany her."

"Let the blessings of the bride's parents be noted," said Hestia as Mr. Granger sat down beside his wife. Hermione saw him take her mother's hand and squeeze it. Her mother had tears sliding silently down her cheeks as she clutched at her husband.

The couple turned back to Hestia and she continued. This was the part that made Ron and Hermione nervous. Ron, because it was where he expected his brothers to pull a prank of some sort, if any was to be pulled during this day, and Hermione, because it was the one point where she felt everything could be spoiled.

Speaking to the small assembly in general, Hestia asked, "Is there anyone here who objects to this couple being united in marriage? If so, speak now or forever hold it in your heart."

Hermione bit her lip in the silence that followed. Sneaking a peek at Ron she saw that he was clenching his teeth.

When there was no response, Hermione sighed and released her lip from her teeth. Beside her, she could feel Ron relax. Hestia continued, still addressing the guests. "Will all of you here, witnessing the vows spoken today by Ron and Hermione, assist and support them in their union?"

There was a rumble as a collective, "We will," came from their families.

"As these two are joined, so are your families united through them. It has been their decision to bind themselves by marriage and their lives will be blessed and enriched by your support. Will you bless and encourage Ron and Hermione in their union? Will you celebrate their marriage, standing beside them in difficult times, yet not standing between them?"

"We will."

Hestia then reached out to a small table that had been placed beside her. She took off of it a wand of rosewood that had been polished and was gleaming brightly in the sun. It was a ceremonial marriage wand and Ron and Hermione had gone together to Ollivander's, now that the shop was back in business, where it had chosen them. Ollivander himself had not returned after the war and no one had ever heard from him again. When things had begun to settle down, Ollivander's great, great nephew had appeared and taken over the business. In his youth Bertram Ollivander Boswell had apprenticed with his uncle. When he had finished his apprenticeship he had moved on to his own shop in Edinburgh where he had done modestly well for himself but with his uncle gone, Bertram had felt he should take up the family mantle in Diagon Alley.

Bertram had the same steady and disconcerting gaze his uncle had had and when Ron and Hermione had gone into the shop he had stared at them intently. After a brief moment he had said, "I know exactly which one will be perfect for you." He had disappeared to the back of the shop. Ron and Hermione heard him rummaging about and he had returned with a dusty white box in his hands.

Taking the top off the box, he had said, "This is the finest marriage wand my uncle ever created. Only a love as strong and true as phoenix song can wield this wand. Now, each with your right hand, pick it up together."

Ron and Hermione had both reached out and taken the wand in their right hands. As they had picked it up an intense shower of bright red, white, and gold sparks had burst forth from the end of it. They held it momentarily as the sparks continued to bathe them in multicolored light. Finally, Bertram had taken the wand and put it back in the box.

"Only a love as bright as the stars could have produced a shower of light like that," he had said in a satisfied voice. "My uncle waited a long time for the right couple for that wand to come along. I'm glad you finally have."

"Will those with the rings please step forward and place them on this wand." Hestia's voice jolted Hermione and Ron back to the present and they watched as Brenna and George both stepped forward. Brenna placed Ron's ring on the wand and George followed suit with Hermione's ring.

Holding up the wand to show the rings, Hestia said, "As you have stated your desire to be united, one with the other, take now these rings and place them upon each other's finger as pledge and testimony to your love and commitment to each other." As she spoke a ribbon of white smoke issued from the end of the wand and entwined itself around the rings. She then held the wand out to Ron who took Hermione's ring, the smoke from the wand that was twisted around it following.

Hermione handed her flowers to Brenna and turned to Ron. They smiled at each other as Ron took her hand in his, the ring poised to slip onto her finger.

"This ring," said Ron, solemnly, "I give you as a symbol of our love and the promises I make to you on this day." They both looked down as Ron slid the ring onto Hermione's hand. She gazed at it for a brief moment before turning to Hestia and removing Ron's ring from the wand along with the last of the smoke.

"This ring," Hermione repeated, "I give you as a symbol of our love and the promises I make to you on this day." She put the ring on Ron's finger. She smiled at it as she thought about the tangible proof it was to the world that Ron was hers.

Hestia reclaimed her attention. "Please take each others' right hands." They clasped their right hands tightly and Hestia, holding the marriage wand, tapped their hands as she continued. "May this cord draw your hands together in love, never to be used in anger." A thin white cord came out of the wand and drew itself towards Ron and Hermione's hands. As the smoke had entwined itself around the rings, the cord did the same around their hands.

"May the vows you speak never grow bitter in your mouths." The cord continued winding around their hands and grew longer and tighter and more elaborate.

Turning to Ron, Hestia said, "Ron, please repeat after me. I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, take you Hermione Jane Granger to my hand and my heart to be my chosen one."

Hermione looked up at Ron as he gazed intently at her and repeated, "I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, take you Hermione Jane Granger to my hand and my heart to be my chosen one."

Hestia continued and Ron repeated the rest of the vow, his smile growing wider as he spoke. "To desire you and be desired by you, to possess you and be possessed by you. I promise to share laughter in times of joy and tears when sorrow touches our lives; to share my dreams and hopes that our love and minds may grow; to share compassion and understanding during times of frustration and anger; to share all that I have and all that I am for as long as love shall last."

Hermione tried not to blink. She could feel the tears starting and she did not want to be weeping as she said her own vows. She wanted to speak them as strongly and clearly as Ron had. She nodded as Hestia turned to her and her voice trembled just a bit as she spoke the same vows to Ron that he had just made to her. As she finished she could feel the tears she had been holding back escape and roll down her face. If possible, Ron's smile grew.

"Two entwined by love," said Hestia as she removed the wand and the cord remained. "Bound by commitment and love, sadness and joy, hardship and victory, anger and reconciliation, all of which brings strength to this union. Hermione and Ron, hold tight to one another through both good times and bad and watch as your strength grows."

Hestia tapped Ron and Hermione's hands with the wand. The cord disappeared yet Hermione swore she could still feel it against her skin. Ron briefly flexed his hand as though he felt something new there also.

"By the power entrusted to me by the Ministry of Magic, I now pronounce you, husband and wife." She turned to Ron and smiled, "You may now kiss your bride."

"With pleasure," muttered Ron so that only Hermione and Hestia heard him. Hermione then felt herself being gathered up in Ron's arms as he kissed her. Ron was quite thorough and it was not until his brothers had let loose with a few catcalls that he released his wife.

Ron and Hermione turned toward their families only to be faced by a broomstick that was levitating about a foot off the ground. "You've got to get over the broom, mate," Fred called from his seat, his pointed wand the evidence that he was the one performing the charm.

With a grin, Ron swept Hermione up into his arms and boldly stepped them over the broom and into their new life.

The large table from the kitchen of the Burrow had been moved outside and was covered with a pale pink tablecloth. At intervals along the edges of the table, the cloth was gathered up and held with clusters of the same roses that were in Hermione's bouquet. There were three large, round tables scattered in the garden and they had been adorned in the same fashion. All the tables had various sized vases on them also filled with pink roses, including the small one by the house that held the cake.

Once Hermione had decided on the pink dress, she had felt she should just go with a pink-themed wedding. She had stressed to Ron, however, that it would not be an over-the-top, riotous pastel explosion. Instead, she insisted that the lighter the shade the better. Ron could not care less about the level of pink, but the girls, Fleur, Angelina, and Mrs. Granger, had kept trying to inject brighter pinks into the decorations including the frosting on the cake. Hermione had caught them all and had even threatened to hex her mother if she did not drop the idea of fuchsia chair covers.

And Ron had thought he had a problem with maroon.

Ron stood next to the big table that was laden with two punch bowls, the hors d'oeuvres Fleur and Angelina had made, and some sweets. In one hand he held a plate full of what he was silently referring to as snacks, a term he knew his sisters-in-law would not appreciate. There were some round things made of cheese, some chicken things on sticks that smelled of curry, some small pieces of bread that had a mushy substance in the middle Fleur had referred to as pâté and, the only thing he recognized, sausage rolls.

He was chewing one of the pâté things and held another in his hand when he heard one of Hermione's great aunts behind him. She was talking to another of the aunts, he could not remember which was which, and saying, "This tastes just like that tinned food I give my cat!" Ron slowly turned round and saw the aunt he thought was called Estelle, taking a bite out of the same pâté snack he held in his hand. He slowed his chewing and resisted the urge to spit out what was still in his mouth. Instead, he gulped it down and then looked queasily at the one he was holding. After a surreptitious glance around to make sure no one was watching, Ron tossed the offending pâté round over his right shoulder. Almost immediately there came the sound of a fight between Crookshanks and a garden gnome as they fought over the discarded treat. Briefly, Ron wondered how Aunt Estelle knew the pâté tasted like tinned cat food but he quickly decided he was better off not knowing the answer to that question.

Setting the plate down on the table, Ron looked across the garden and gazed upon his wife. _His wife_. He loved the sound of it. Almost without thinking of it, Ron twisted the wedding band he now wore. He had been wondering about the inscription but had not wanted to take it off to look. Ron and Hermione had agreed to have the other's wedding band engraved with something meaningful. Not wanting anything sappy and unable to think of anything clever, Ron had simply had the jeweler put, _My Hermione_ on the inside of the band in a pretty script. He was sure that Hermione had come up with something far more interesting but he was unwilling to remove the ring from his finger. It did not seem right, somehow.

Taking another look around the garden, Ron could not help but marvel at his family. In this setting, Hermione's parents almost did not seem like Muggles. Mr. Granger was talking animatedly to Hestia Jones while Mrs. Granger was seated at one of the tables with Fleur and Angelina. It was clear by the way she kept gesturing at a piece of Fleur's cake on the table in front of her that the women were probably discussing cooking or something of the like. Bill and George were showing Girard more ways to torture garden gnomes while Hermione's cousin was deep in conversation with Anya, Charlie's girlfriend. The maiden aunts were keeping their own counsel at the other end of the food table where they had now moved on to the white chocolate covered strawberries and some little cake-like cookies Ron thought he had heard referred to as Madeleines. Brenna's husband, Gilbert, no longer appeared uncomfortable as he chatted with Charlie. Ron thought, based on Charlie's gestures, that they were conversing either about dragons or Quidditch. Grinning, Ron reckoned it didn't really matter. Gilbert would remember none of the details about the wedding as he was one of the guests who was to have a memory charm performed on him by Mr. Weasley. The aunts would also be obliviated.

But it was Fred who really caught Ron's attention. He was sitting by himself at another table and was holding Alaric. With a goofy smile on his face, Fred was clearly having some kind of chat with his son that was making the infant smile and laugh. Ron thought his brother had never looked happier.

Looking back at Hermione, Ron caught her eye. With a subtle gesture of his head he motioned toward the house. Hermione smiled gave a small nod back. As nonchalantly as possible, Ron began to make his way to the kitchen door. He was halfway there when his father clapped him on the shoulder.

"Well, son," said Mr. Weasley. "It's done, isn't it?"

Ron looked questioningly at his father.

"You've finally made Hermione an official member of this family."

"Uh, yeah," said Ron, noting that a well-meaning relative had also impeded Hermione's progress to the house.

"I'm glad," said Mr. Weasley. "Very glad. You know," he continued, "I don't tell you this often enough, but I'm proud of you, son."

This caught Ron's attention. Since his mother's death, Mr. Weasley had become somewhat reserved and he rarely spoke of his emotions.

"I am," said his father. "And I know why you're really moving in with Harry, too."

"You do?" Ron was startled. Neither he nor Hermione had been very forthcoming about their reasons for moving to Grimmauld Place.

"I do. And it makes me very proud. You and Hermione are so obviously in love with each other. Maybe seeing it every day will make Harry want to live again."

Ron's eyes widened. His father had hit the nail squarely on the head. Yet, he thought it was rather a good thing. He felt a bit relieved that someone knew _why_ they were doing this crazy thing. And not only knew, but understood. "Yeah," said Ron. "Maybe it will."

"Now," said Mr. Weasley, "your wife is clearly trying to get into the house to meet up with you, so why don't you head on in there?" His father clapped him on the back again and said, "I'll try and distract old Aunt Ethel."

"Are you sure it's Ethel?" Ron asked.

"Well, if it's not Ethel, it's Mildred. Estelle is still fawning over the pâté." With that, Mr. Weasley left Ron to stride across the yard towards Hermione and her aunt.

His father's interference must have worked because shortly after Ron got into the house Hermione stepped over the threshold. Ron grabbed her and swept her into his arms where he kissed her. When they came up for air, Ron said, "I was afraid I'd never get you to myself again."

Hermione sighed. "I know. But that's what happens at weddings. Everyone wants to talk to the bride or the groom."

"I thought the purpose of a wedding was to get the bride and the groom together, not keep them apart all day," Ron complained, kissing Hermione again.

They pulled apart again and Hermione smiled. "I love what you put in my ring," she said.

"You read it? When did you read it?"

"When you were throwing that hors d'oeuvre to the cat. I just couldn't wait any longer. It's really sweet." She kissed him and then asked, "What did you think of what I had put in yours?"

"I haven't looked," Ron admitted ruefully.

Hermione surprised him by grinning. "I'm glad," she said. "Look now. I want to see your face when you read it."

Ron slipped the wedding band off his finger and tilted it so he could read the inscription. When he did he laughed. Putting the ring back on he asked, "Am I? Am I really your king?"

Hermione nodded and, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissed him again. Now that they were married it was as though they could not get enough of each other.

This time it was Ron who broke it off as he ran his hands up her back. "Hang on," he said, moving his hand on her back again. "What's all this?" He turned a bit to look at Hermione's back and then exclaimed, "Blimey! How many buttons are there, anyway?"

Hermione giggled and Ron grinned. Giggling was such an un-Hermione-like thing for her to do that it made him smile. "Do you think," Ron asked, "that it's too early for us to leave?"

"Actually," said Hermione turning to look at the clock, "I think it's just about the right time. There's just one more thing I have to do." She took his hand and pulled him toward the door. "Come on."

Outside, Hermione, with Ron's help, stood on a chair and called everyone together. She took a deep breath and Ron felt a speech coming on. He stifled a sigh. He had wanted to get away relatively quickly. Now that Hermione seemed to be in lecture-mode it would be forever before they would go.

"I would just like to thank everyone for coming and sharing in this special day for me and Ron. It really means a lot to us to have had you all here." There were smiles and nods as Hermione turned to Brenna. She made a gesture at her cousin who grinned and disappeared for a brief moment. When she returned it was to hand Hermione something behind her back.

"We'll be going soon," Hermione continued, "but first…." There was a pause as Hermione scanned the small group. She located who she was looking for and then called, "George!"

Ron saw his brother look up.

"Think fast!" With that, Hermione lobbed her bouquet at George and it hit him square in the chest. Reflexively, George lifted his arms and caught the flowers with an expression of horror on face. Everyone laughed as the single twin turned bright red. Ron did not think he had ever seen one of the twins blush before and he laughed.

"You're next!" called Hermione as Ron helped her down from the chair.

They had said their good byes to their guests and, except for Mrs. Granger growing watery-eyed as she hugged Ron, who had managed not to take a step back as his eyes widened in terror, all had gone well. Hestia Jones had presented Ron and Hermione with the box containing the marriage wand as well as the parchment that proved they were legally married. Pulling one more thing from the pocket of her robes, Hestia had said, "Now, when you're ready to go just touch this."

Turning to wave to everyone one last time, they looked at each other and then reached out to touch the empty tube of hand lotion Hestia was holding. As they did, the portkey came to life and transported them to the lobby of the hotel Ron had arranged for them to spend their wedding night in.

A brown haired girl wearing dark blue robes looked up from the desk and said, "Ah, the Weasleys. We've been expecting you."

Ron and Hermione walked up to the desk as the girl turned a book on a carousel around to face them. "Just sign in and I'll get your key." She pointed to a bright blue quill and a pot of ink and turned to the little cubicles that lined the wall behind her.

With Hermione looking over his shoulder, Ron carefully wrote, _Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Weasley_. They both looked at it for a moment until the girl returned and Ron swiveled the carousel back away from them.

"Now," said the girl. "My name's Morgan and if you need anything you just let me know. You're in cottage number seven. Just go through that door," she pointed to a door to Ron's left, "and follow the path. There are markers along the way to guide you. Everything is just as you've requested, Mr. Weasley, and we hope you enjoy your stay." She smiled and held out a large brass key with curlicues at the top. Ron took it and smiled back.

"Thank you," he said, gathering Hermione's hand in his and leading her to the door.

Once outside they found themselves on a terrace. One side looked out over a beach where small waves were gently brushing against the sand. On the other side was a path that led into a large copse of trees. There was a sign next to the path that read, "Cottages."

"This is beautiful," murmured Hermione as they walked through the trees.

"I thought you might like it," answered Ron.

After a few minutes they came to a fork. There was another sign. This one said, "Cottages 1 – 9," and had an arrow pointing right. Underneath that was another line that read, "Cottages 10 – 21," followed by a left pointing arrow.

"I guess we go this way," said Ron, leading them to the right. Shortly after taking the fork they began to see small cottages set back among the trees. Where the cottage paths met the main path there were signs with numbers. Ron thought it was a bit like a scavenger hunt. Finally they came to a sign that had the number seven on it and they turned down the path.

"Ron. This is wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed as their cottage came into view. It was a small, whitewashed building with a thatched roof and flower boxes beneath the windows on either side of the door. "It looks like something out of another time." Ron smiled, glad that, so far, Hermione seemed to like the place he had chosen.

At the door was a welcome mat that cheerily exclaimed, "Welcome, Weasleys! And congratulations!"

"They've thought of everything, haven't they?" asked Hermione as Ron unlocked the door and swung it open.

Turning to Hermione, Ron said. "I carried you over the broom at the wedding but isn't there a Muggle custom where I have to carry you over the threshold here?"

Ron really wanted the opportunity to swing Hermione up into his arms again and with his expression he dared her to say no.

She caught the look and playfully answered, "Why, yes, Ron. Yes, there is."

Grinning, Ron swept her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he walked into a little sitting room. In front of them was a fireplace that had a small fire of blue flames dancing merrily in the grate. In front of the fireplace was a round table set for two, chintz-covered chairs on either side. On the table a bottle of champagne was chilling and there were assorted sweets around it, including Hermione's favorite, white chocolate covered strawberries. Even though there had been some at the wedding, Ron knew Hermione could never get enough of them and had made a special request that the hotel have some made up just for her.

Another look around the room showed a doorway off to the right that clearly led to a bedroom. Ron slowly set Hermione back on her feet.

"Now, " said Ron in a low voice as he nudged the cottage door with his foot and it began to swing shut, "about those buttons…"


	8. Chapter 8 Coming Home

VIII

Coming Home

"Time to wake up! Move along, now, you slugabed! It's time to get going!"

Hermione grimaced as the alarm clock continued its litany of phrases designed to wake them up. She could not fathom why the darn thing was going off, anyway, and was grateful when she felt the bed shift. There was a thunk as Ron hit the clock and it gave a final squawk before settling the dark room back into silence.

The bed shifted again and Hermione felt a hand on her hip. Eyes still closed, she smiled to herself. Was it possible Ron had set the alarm clock so they could enjoy some early morning 'activities'? That seemed awfully scheduled of him.

"Hermione?" Ron asked quietly. Hermione could feel him leaning over her, trying to ascertain if she was awake. "Hermione, it's time to get up."

Hermione's smile faded. Time to get up for what? They were on their honeymoon; they did not need to hurry off anywhere. If Ron had planned something for this morning, particularly this early, he would have told her last night so she would be prepared for whatever he had on the itinerary. That was what he had done thus far. After a moment of thought, Hermione decided it would be just like him to forget to mention something at this point. There were only three days left of their trip and the novelty of having created a timetable and sticking with it could be wearing off. Well, Hermione decided, he would have a job of waking her up for some event he had neglected to tell her about.

She felt Ron move closer and he whispered in her ear. "Hermione…please wake up." She did not respond. When Ron kissed her below her ear it was all Hermione could do to lay still. "Please?" Ron asked and then kissed her again.

Resolved, Hermione kept her ground by not moving. She knew Ron was aware that she was awake. No one slept as stiffly as Hermione was holding herself. She heard Ron sigh and then there was a pause as he thought about how to get her attention. After a moment Hermione felt a breeze as Ron gently blew a breath of air into her ear canal. She shivered and Ron chuckled.

"I knew you were awake," he boasted huskily.

"I am not," Hermione argued, grinning. Ron blew in her ear again and she shrugged her shoulders up around her neck in a pretend effort to discourage him. The truth was, she really liked it when he did that.

Ron sighed again, loudly this time. "Well," he said, "I guess you leave me no choice." He slid his hand from her hip to her waist.

Hermione's eyes flew open an instant before Ron started tickling her. "NO!" she squealed, laughing. "Ron, don't!" She rolled over quickly and, as she did so, she felt her elbow connect with something hard.

Ron yelped and immediately stopped tickling her. "OW!"

"Oh, Ron! I'm so sorry! Where did I get you?" Hermione sat up and reached for her wand. "Lumos!" she said and the tip of her wand lit up the room. She saw Ron blink in the sudden light. He was flat on his back and holding his eye where she had hit him.

"Turn that thing off," said Ron, his good eye glaring at her.

"Let me see it," said Hermione.

"No."

"Ron," Hermione insisted. "Let me see your eye."

"No, it's fine. Get rid of the light."

"But—"

"Hermione, the light's making it feel worse."

Chastened, Hermione reluctantly muttered the spell that doused the light and set the wand back on the table next to her side of the bed. With the light gone, Hermione blinked at the darkness as she waited for her eyes to adjust. When she could see Ron's shape next to her, she reached out until her fingers gently touched his face. She felt Ron wince and paused. When he did not pull away, she moved her hand until she found his, still holding his eye. He let her move his fingers as she caressed the area.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she said.

"S'okay," muttered Ron.

Hermione smiled as she heard the petulance in Ron's voice. Leaning forward, she found his face and kissed the corner of his eye. "Is that better?" she asked.

There was a pause as Ron thought about it. "A little," he said. "Maybe if you did it again…" his voice trailed off as Hermione again leaned in and kissed him.

"Better now?"

"Third time's the charm?"

Laughing softly, Hermione moved towards him again. At the last second he turned his head and her lips found the corner of his mouth. Ron deepened the kiss and moved until he was looming over her. Pulling away and looking down at her he said, "I reckon we have a little bit of time before we _really_ have to get up."

Hermione grinned, "I'm so glad to hear that."

Ron and Hermione were laughing as they entered the kitchen. Their laughter died away as they came face to face with Charlie Weasley. He was standing next to the kitchen table, glaring at them and tapping his foot. He raised his eyebrows at them and looked pointedly at the clock. Charlie's girlfriend, Anya, was sitting across the table. She glanced once at Hermione and Ron and did not bother trying to disguise her smile.

"You were supposed to be in here an hour ago," said Charlie, clearly annoyed.

"Er, yes, well," stuttered Ron. "We, er, overslept." His ears turned pink as he grinned broadly.

Charlie narrowed his eyes and looked at Ron more closely. "Where did you get that black eye?"

Hermione giggled as Ron struggled to come up with a good reason for his injury. After a moment, Ron gave up and simply said, "Hermione elbowed me in her sleep."

Charlie blinked at Hermione who shrugged. Shaking his head, Charlie sighed and said, "Well, we've still got time but we have to hurry." He picked a bag up off the table and slung it over his shoulder. Anya got up and the two of them headed toward the door.

Hermione turned to Ron. "Where are we going?"

Ron grinned as he picked another bag up off the table. Copying Charlie's motion of slinging it over his shoulder, he said, "It's a surprise." She looked at him questioningly as he held out his hand to her. "Come on," he urged. "It's going to be great."

Hermione took Ron's hand and they walked out into the morning.

The four of them walked silently for a while. They could hear the dragons that Charlie and Anya worked with bellowing in the distance. The dragon cries were punctuated by shouts from their handlers as they tried to control the beasts. It was morning feeding time at the Romanian Dragon Care Center and one of the most dangerous times of day for those who worked with the creatures. Hungry dragons were not to be toyed with and the sooner they were fed the better.

Hermione did not know where they were headed but that was the way it had been with much of this wedding trip Ron had organized. They spent the first three days of their married life in the small cottage among the trees. It was a blissful time and Hermione had been somewhat reluctant to leave their little corner of solitude. In the end Ron had persuaded her by saying, "You don't want to ruin the rest of my plans, do you? How do you know it doesn't get better than this, anyway?" Hermione was unsure that anything could get better than the cottage, but she acquiesced and let Ron lead her out of the woods.

Ron then took Hermione to Paris for a few days. They stayed in a Wizarding community Hermione had never before noticed while on previous trips to the French city with her parents. It reminded her a bit of Diagon Alley but with a flair that could only have been provided by the French. She had looked wonderingly in the shop windows as they walked past on their way to the museums, libraries, and historical sights Ron plotted out on a map he had purchased in Flourish and Blotts the same day he went to Madame Malkin's to purchase his wedding robes.

Hermione knew Ron had been bored silly while she excitedly toured the musty old buildings and exclaimed over their artifacts. Several times she had seen Ron's eyes glaze over as they wandered through yet another gallery of Muggle paintings, but whenever she caught his eye, he smiled quietly at her and said nothing. This, of course, only encouraged her to continue to take her time and examine every little thing that caught her eye.

The only place that had even remotely interested Ron was a Wizarding museum dating back to the twelfth century. It was hidden away in a remote corner of the city and had taken some searching for but, after finding a few friendly witches and wizards, all of whom had gazed indulgently at the newly married couple, they managed to locate it. Ron had obediently followed Hermione about as she went from one exhibit to another, always reading the dusty placards and then studying the displays intently.

They arrived shortly before lunch and Hermione completely forgot about the meal in her excitement. "Look at all these wonderful things, Ron!" she exclaimed. Ron simply smiled or nodded or added a noncommittal comment where appropriate, all the while ignoring the rumbling of his stomach that she could hear echoing across the wide halls they were walking through. She was waiting for him to say something about needing a meal but, to her amazement, he kept quiet.

Ron completely forgot about his stomach when they entered an antechamber in the late afternoon that was devoted completely to Quidditch. Just inside the doorway he had stopped suddenly, his eyes wide as he took in the room and the displays devoted solely to the Wizarding sport. "Wicked!"

Now it was Hermione's turn to indulge her spouse as he studied the different Quaffles through the ages and marveled at the stuffed Snidgets on display. Ron's favorite display was that of the evolution of the Quidditch broomstick while Hermione became quite interested in a display featuring representations of the uniforms of all the European Quidditch teams. Finally, a guard came by and informed them that the museum would be closing in five minutes. As the door clicked behind them, Ron said "The Museum of Quidditch in London has a much better display on the history of the Bludger." Hermione smirked.

When their time in Paris was over, Ron surprised Hermione again by informing her they were heading to Romania to see Charlie and Anya. Ron said he thought it would be interesting to see the dragons his brother and Anya worked with and Hermione agreed.

Their first day there, they were reintroduced to Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback, a dragon they met as a baby during their first year at Hogwarts. Norbert did not recognize them and tried to turn them into crisps for getting too close to his paddock. Ron and Hermione then stood back and watched as Charlie not only walked to the paddock gate but also into the enclosure and actually had the dragon leaning down to have what Hermione thought might be an ear, scratched. Hermione turned to Ron with wide eyes and said, "Charlie certainly _does_ have a way with dragons, doesn't he?"

As they continued to walk away from the dragon center and the surrounding buildings that housed those who took care of them, Hermione wondered where they could be going. They had been walking about ten minutes when she heard a shout and looked up to see a man and a little boy waving. Charlie and Anya waved back. When they reached the two there was a brief conversation between the man and Anya, who spoke four languages, and then Anya said, "Igor found it almost immediately. His father says he is a very bright child."

Igor, who appeared to be about four-years-old, was proudly holding a tarnished teaspoon in his hand. Hermione glanced at Ron. He just smiled back at her and squeezed her hand. A few moments later, Charlie turned to them and said, "It's just about time. Everyone grab hold of the spoon."

With her free hand, Hermione took a small piece of the spoon, she assumed it to be a Portkey, between her thumb and forefinger. A moment passed and then she felt the familiar pull behind her navel signifying the transportation device had activated. She closed her eyes and wished, for the umpteenth time, that there were some form of magical travel that did not involve upsetting her stomach.

The sound of a great many people gathered in one place greeted Hermione as she felt her feet hit the ground. She managed to stay upright, opened her eyes, and looked across a field to see a large stadium. She closed her eyes again. Quidditch. She should have known.

"Hermione?"

She opened her eyes again and looked at Ron. He looked a bit anxious and she suspected he knew Quidditch would not have been her first choice for a honeymoon activity. However, Ron had gone out of his way to take her to places he knew she would want to see. He had followed her placidly around museums and other places that were of no interest to him. The least she could do was spend an afternoon watching a Quidditch match with him.

"Quidditch!" she said brightly.

"Yeah, you don't mind do you?"

"Not at all," Hermione answered. "But I thought we were between seasons?"

Ron grinned and started to lead her to the stadium. "Exhibition," he said.

Inside the stadium the group found their seats and settled in. Ron and Charlie immediately began to talk about the upcoming match and Hermione promptly tuned them out. After a few minutes she closed her eyes and reprimanded herself. Quidditch was Ron's life, both literally and figuratively. _And Ron is my life_, she thought, _which means_, she sighed, _so is Quidditch_.

Hermione set about trying to be interested but felt she must not have succeeded terribly well because it was only a few moments before Anya turned to her and asked, "Not a Quidditch fan, are you?"

Sighing again, Hermione answered, "Not really. You?"

"I didn't used to be," Anya replied. "But then I met Charlie. When he wasn't talking about dragons he was talking about Quidditch. I learned to like it because it was a way of spending time with him. Take today," Anya shifted in her seat so she was facing more toward Hermione. "I don't even know who's playing but I'm more than happy to be here because Charlie is happy."

Hermione nodded. "That's what I'm trying to do," she said. "But it's all Ron talks about and I was so happy to have a break from it."

"Ronald, his job is Quidditch?"

"Yes. He works in the offices of the Chudley Cannons."

Anya laughed. "Then you had better change your thinking or it will be the end of you. You need to change your attitude about it, Hermione. Find a way to accept that it makes your Ron happy and that will make you happy."

Sitting quietly for a moment, Hermione thought about this. Anya was right. She had to make her peace with Quidditch and its presence in her and Ron's life or it would come between them. She nodded at Anya. "You're right," she said. "I will try to be more accepting of it."

"Good," said Anya. "You and Ronald, you are destined to be together. It would be foolish to let the small things get in between the two of you. The small things, they grow you know. They fester and you don't realize it until there is a raw, gaping wound and fixing it seems insurmountable."

Hermione smiled, "You seem very wise about all this, Anya. How is that?"

Giving Hermione a wide smile, Anya said, "I learned this from my marriage."

"Excuse me?" Hermione was confused. Anya and Charlie were not married. Were they? Had they gone off and gotten married and not told anyone?

"My first marriage," chuckled Anya. "I was married very young," she said. "It was a mistake on our part and ended before I ever met Charlie."

When Hermione continued to look at her in surprise, Anya added, "There aren't many marriages in our world that fail but, like in the Muggle world, they need to be worked at and when they aren't, sometimes, they just need to end."

Just then there was a loud boom and everyone jumped.

Hermione did get caught up in the excitement as the teams were announced. Everything was in Romanian, however, and she could not understand the announcer. First there was a blue blur as a local Romanian team was announced. Then the other team was announced, though Hermione had a bit of trouble understanding who they were, and a red blur flew past. The players slowed and took up positions around the stadium. One of the red players was in front of where Hermione and Ron were sitting and she leaned forward. _It couldn't be…could it?_ Just then, the player looked at her and gave a little bow on his broomstick. Hermione's mouth dropped and she stared outright. Next to her she heard Ron chuckle and she whipped her head around to gape at him.

"Surprise," he said with a big grin on his face.

"You knew about this?"

"Of course."

"What?"

Ron shrugged. "When Wally heard we were coming here to see Charlie, he said that was perfect as he had tickets for this match. He couldn't come, but we could. At first I told him no, that you weren't really a Quidditch fan and I'd kind of like to spare you from it on our honeymoon. He seemed disappointed and went on to tell me who was playing and I thought about it and decided you might actually like it."

"That's what the surprise was, then?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah."

Beaming, Hermione put her arms around Ron's neck and kissed him. Pulling away she said, "I love you, Ronald Weasley." Then she turned and waved to the Quidditch player smiling in front of them.

Viktor Krum waved back.

A few hours later, Hermione was sitting back in her seat with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She was bored. This was turning out to be quite a long Quidditch match and, while she had enjoyed the first hour and even part of the second hour, going on four was really too much for her. She cringed as Ron, Charlie, and Anya suddenly jumped up shouting. She thought it was something regarding a missed foul but she was not sure.

Ron looked down at her at the same time she looked up. His expression sobered a bit and he sat and reached for the bag under his chair. After rummaging around for a moment he looked at Hermione and grinned. She tilted her head at him as he pulled something from the bag and handed it to her. Then her face brightened. Ron had thoughtfully brought along the book Hermione was reading. Now she could sit and read while the others enjoyed the match. With a smile and a sigh, Hermione settled back with _Wizarding Wives…A Guide for the Newly Married Witch_ by Milt McLane, Wh.D.

Five hours later Hermione had finished her book and reread it. Then the light began to wane and she could not see the print very well anymore. Reluctantly, she handed it to Ron who put it back in the bag under his chair. She thought a lot of what Healer Milt had to say was quite interesting and she was looking forward to putting a few of his ideas into practice when she and Ron got back to London.

For now, though, Hermione was trying not to feel too terribly disgruntled over the ten hour Quidditch match. Honestly, ten hours was just much too long to sit here waiting for Viktor to catch the Snitch. She wished he would get on with it already.

Suddenly everyone around her jumped to their feet. Hermione also stood and craned her neck to see what was going on. She could see two players speeding toward the ground and knew one of them was Viktor and they must be after the Snitch.

"Oh, no!" shouted Ron, grabbing Charlie's arm. "Look!"

Hermione looked at Anya, confused.

"Petrovki is headed for the hoops," Anya explained. "His team is 140 points ahead of Krum's. If he scores before Krum catches the Snitch," no one seemed to doubt Viktor would catch it, "then there is a tie and we have more play. If Krum catches the Snitch first then his team wins."

Hermione had an immediate desire to see Viktor catch that little gold ball. She joined in with the screaming fans. The last thing she wanted was for the game to continue. Petrovki fired the Quaffle an instant before Viktor grabbed the Snitch out of the air and held it up. A hush suddenly descended on the stadium as everyone turned to the scoreboard to see who had scored first. The wait seemed interminable but, finally, the number under Bulgaria changed to reflect the 150 points for catching the Snitch. The number under Romania remained the same. A cheer went up through the stands and Hermione closed her eyes in relief. Finally. They could head back to Charlie and Anya's for a nice, relaxing dinner.

The four of them sat in the stands talking about the match for a bit while the stadium emptied out. Ron and Charlie, it turned out, had been rooting for Petrovki to score first.

"Why?" asked Hermione in amazement.

"Because, Hermione," Ron explained, "then there would have been a tie and the Snitch would've been re-released and the match would have continued until it was caught again."

"There was a match," put in Charlie, "where every time the Snitch was caught it tied up the game."

"Yeah," added Ron enthusiastically, "back in the fifteenth century." Hermione gave Ron a look. It seemed he could remember Quidditch-related dates just fine, but asking him to recall facts at Hogwarts was like pulling teeth.

"They played for more than a fortnight. They caught the Snitch seven times before it actually ended the match!" Charlie finished.

Hermione cringed at the thought of being at a Quidditch match for that long. In fact, she thought she would have gone home by that time and Ron could just stay by himself.

When it seemed that most of the fans had left, Ron and Charlie stood and picked up the bags they brought. They again slung them over their shoulders and led the way out of the stands. Hermione and Anya followed. They were almost to the exit when the men changed direction and, with no other choice, Hermione, looking longingly at the doorway out, turned behind them.

They went down a long corridor that had few people in it until they finally came upon a closed door with two guards standing outside of it. They stopped and Ron showed his Chudley Cannons identification to one of the guards who unrolled a parchment he was holding. After a moment he nodded and said, "Go right in, sir," as he pulled the door open for them.

Ron grinned back at Hermione and led the way into a comfortable room with a large fireplace to the left and chairs, tables, and sofas scattered about in a way that created a cozy atmosphere. It rather reminded Hermione of the Gryffindor common room. There were people, mostly women and children, milling about, sitting at the tables and drinking cold pumpkin juice and eating assorted pastries and treats that were laid out on the tables on heaping plates.

A tall blonde woman holding a small child looked up at them and smiled. Getting up from her chair she walked up to Ron and said, "You must be Veasley?" When Ron nodded she kissed him on both cheeks. Hermione bit her lip in a moment of pure annoyance at this strange woman kissing her husband. "I knew you must be by the hair," she said before turning to Hermione. "And you are Herm-own-ninny?"

Hermione was still scowling as she opened her mouth to reply when something about the way the woman pronounced her name made her pause. She nodded and the woman kissed her on both cheeks the way she had Ron. "I am very glad to meet you," she said sincerely. "I haff heard much about you!"

Hermione did not answer and Ron introduced the woman to Charlie and Anya, both of whom were treated to the same greeting Ron and Hermione had received with the double-cheek kisses. Looking sideways at Ron, Hermione caught him biting his lip, a habit he had apparently learned from her, in an effort to keep from smirking.

"It should not be long, now," said the blonde woman, looking toward a closed door on the far side of the room. "Vould you like a drink vhile ve vait," she offered.

Ron and Charlie nodded and the woman led them over to the table she had been sitting at. Setting the child down in the chair she had recently vacated she told them to sit and she would get them drinks. As they sat, Ron reached out to grab a few pastries off the plates. "Who is that woman?" Hermione asked him.

Grinning, Ron stuffed the treats in his mouth and chewed. He shrugged vaguely at Hermione as if to say, "How many times have you told me not to talk with my mouth full?" She looked at him in disgust.

The woman returned to the table and handed them each a bottle of butterbeer. She then picked up the child and settled them back into the chair, holding the toddler in her lap. Looking at Charlie she asked, "I understand you vork vith the dragons."

There passed a pleasant half hour while they all made small talk and Hermione wondered what was going on. She felt as though it was something she should have figured out herself long before now, after all, she was the brightest witch of her age, but it just eluded her. Every time she looked at Ron he smiled and looked away. It was as if he knew that the longer she glared at him, the more likely he was to give it up.

Finally the door on the far side of the room opened and several of the Quidditch players emerged from behind it, showered and smiling. Suddenly Hermione realized they were waiting for Viktor. She smiled as she saw her old friend walk into the room and when he headed straight for the blonde woman she understood who she was. They all stood and Hermione felt quite stupid as Viktor kissed the woman and took the child in his arms. He turned to Hermione, smiled, and kissed her on the cheek.

"Herm-own-ninny," he said, "it is good to see you."

"You too, Viktor," replied Hermione, feeling Ron slide an arm possessively around her waist.

"Veasley," Viktor acknowledged. "You haff all met my wife, Stasia, and our son, Ivan?"

Stasia spoke up, "Oh, yes, Viktor, you have such nice friends."

"Good, good," said Viktor. "Shall ve go, then?" He turned toward the door Ron, Hermione, Charlie, and Anya had come in earlier. "Veasley," Viktor asked as they were leaving the room, "vhere did you get that black eye?"

"Er," said Ron. "It's a long story."

He looked sheepishly at Hermione who whispered to Ron, "Where are we going?"

"Dinner," he whispered back.

"Did you arrange this?" she asked.

"I might have had a hand in it," Ron grinned.

"You are full of surprises, Ron."

"I know."

Laughing, Hermione added, "You are going to be so well rewarded for this tonight."

Ron's grin grew. "Promise?"

Hermione said nothing but smiled up at her husband and raised her eyebrows at him. Ron pulled her closer and chuckled as they headed to dinner.

Ron sat quietly, staring at the lighted map above the door. On the one hand he was afraid that if he took his eyes off of it they would miss their stop. On the other, he was able to nervously watch their progress as they drew ever nearer their destination. Next to him, Hermione sat seemingly blissfully unaware of just about everything around her, including Ron's anxiety. He knew she had to understand that he was not exactly looking forward to this homecoming. After all, it wasn't exactly home they were returning to.

Stifling a sigh, Ron swallowed as the train slowed. He watched as various Muggles stepped out of their car to hurry above ground while others came in and took their places. Ron fidgeted slightly in his seat and winced as he felt the corner of his trunk poke him in the ribs from where it rested in his pocket. In order not to invite odd looks from Muggles, Ron and Hermione had charmed their luggage to minute proportions so they could carry it more easily and less obviously.

They could have Apparated to the corner of Grimmauld Place and then walked to number twelve, but part of Ron's plan had been to take the London Underground. Hermione had not asked him why and he had not volunteered the fact that it was because it would take longer. Trying to keep from sighing, he admitted to himself that he really did not want to be going to Grimmauld Place and he did not think he wanted to see Harry either. He tried to tell himself that it was just fear of the unknown and, after all, he had known Harry for a long time, but really this idea of Hermione's was beginning to seem more and more farfetched.

The train stopped again and the Muggles repeated the getting out and getting in procedure before the doors slid closed and they started moving again. Three more stops.

Two more stops.

One stop left.

_Oh, Merlin. We're here. _

Without looking at each other, Ron and Hermione got up and walked out of the train. Hermione, knowing exactly where she was going, unhesitatingly set off to the right and Ron meekly followed her. He walked as slowly as he could but Hermione was moving at a good clip and if he did not keep up with her, he would undoubtedly get lost in Muggle London.

_Hey wait a minute_, he thought, _that would create a nice delay._ Ron sighed even as the thought occurred. It might make them get to Harry's later but it would also make Hermione angry if she had to run about London looking for Ron. _Just suck it up, mate. Might as well get it over with._

Wordlessly, they walked through several streets before Ron began to recognize that they were very close now. Before he knew it they were walking down Grimmauld Place. They stopped on the sidewalk between numbers eleven and thirteen. Hermione took Ron's hand reassuringly and he looked down at her. She was smiling bravely up at him but he could see that she was as nervous as he was. He wasn't sure if that made him feel better or not.

They both looked at the space between houses and thought _Number Twelve Grimmauld Place._ Suddenly a house formed in front of them, pushing the others out of the way.

Ron gulped.

They started up the front walk, and before Ron knew it, they were at the door. Hermione took a deep breath and, reaching out a small hand that Ron thought might be shaking, she rang the bell.

They listened to it gong through the house. When it finished, Ron counted to five. "Well," he said brightly, "no one's home. Why don't we go find a hotel for the night and try again tomorrow?" He started to turn away but Hermione grabbed his arm.

"Ron," she warned.

Sighing again, Ron turned back toward the door and they continued to wait. It seemed as though no one was going to answer but he knew better than to try suggesting they leave again. He shifted his feet. He ran a hand through his hair. He looked critically at the chipped, black paint on the door. He turned and gazed at the neighborhood around them, wondering briefly if the Muggles could see them. If they could, did it look like they were just standing in between houses waiting for a bus or something? Speaking of buses, they could always summon the Knight Bus. They could go back to the Burrow, he supposed, or maybe find a room in Hogsmeade?

A small noise startled Ron and he turned back to the door in front of him. He thought he could hear some kind of fierce whispering coming from the other side of it. He and Hermione exchanged curious glances. They then heard a stomping noise followed by a moment of silence. After a moment the door started to slowly open.

"Welcome," said a small voice and Ron looked down to see Winky smiling at them. "Please, come in. Come in."

Hermione took Ron's hand and, holding it tightly, pulled him into the front hallway of the house. Ron looked around to find it not much changed from the way it looked the summer he and his family had stayed there.

"We has had your things taken to your rooms," said Winky, interrupting Ron's thoughts. "Master Harry Potter is waiting to take you to them." She turned to scowl up the stairway and Ron and Hermione followed her gaze.

Harry was standing on the landing looking down at them darkly. Ron took one look at his former friend's expression and was ready to bolt. It was only Hermione's hand tightening on his again and her other hand touching his arm reassuringly that kept him rooted to the spot.

His wife pulling him forward, Ron walked up the stairs with her. They were three steps down from Harry when Ron got a good look at him. Harry had clearly made some effort as his messy black hair was still wet as though from a shower. He had on a black sweater and black pants that, while rumpled, gave the appearance of at least being clean. His black shoes were scuffed.

Hermione spoke first. "Harry, it's good to see you again."

Looking at Hermione disdainfully, Harry replied, "Right."

Harry looked at Ron and the two men stood glaring at each other for a moment. When Ron felt Hermione squeeze his hand meaningfully, he managed to grind out, "Harry."

"Ron."

Silence. _Well, at least we got the niceties out of the way,_ Ron thought ruefully.

Finally, Harry spoke again. "I'll show you to your rooms." He turned and Ron and Hermione followed him.

Harry led them up another flight of stairs and stopped in front of a door. He flung it open to reveal a large room full of unopened boxes. "Winky wanted to unpack for you," said Harry, "but I told her not to."

"Why not?" Hermione asked gently.

Ron managed to contain a snort. He thought it was pretty obvious. _Hoping to get rid of us that quickly, are you? _

"I reckoned you'd want to arrange things yourself. Besides, I thought you," he looked at Hermione, "might not like having a house-elf do all that extra labor."

Hermione smiled at Harry as though he had been so terribly thoughtful, but Ron frowned at the sarcasm he heard in Harry's voice. "That was very considerate of you, Harry. Thank you."

"You have this whole suite," said Harry stepping aside so Ron and Hermione could pass him and go into what turned out to be a large sitting room. "This room, bedroom, bathroom. Everything you need should be in these rooms."

Ron glanced back at Harry who seemed to be refusing to step into the room. The two exchanged looks and Ron got Harry's meaning; he and Hermione should have no reason to need to be in any other part of the house.

"Thank you again, Harry," Hermione said turning to look at him somewhat sadly and hopefully at the same time.

Ron and Harry snorted in unison. Without another word, Harry turned on his heel and left them alone.

"Well," said Hermione brightly, looking around. "We'll have these rooms in order in no time."

Ron looked at his wife. She was trying so hard to make this work. To have their living here accomplish what she thought it could. His heart melted. Hermione was such a good person and there were a thousand reasons he did not deserve her. Gathering her up in his arms, Ron kissed her deeply. When they pulled apart Ron spoke softly. "Welcome home, Mrs. Weasley."

* * *

_Author's note: I am hard at work on chapter nine so I hope you'll all stick around for it. Thanks to everyone whoreviewed. I live for your kind words! _


	9. Chapter 9 Settling In

Chapter IX

Settling In

Hermione stood in the middle of the sitting room looking around. She was trying very hard to imagine it with fresh paint, nice furniture, and her and Ron's belongings scattered about. The problem was, the room required a great deal of imagination to even begin improving it, and Hermione had always been far too practical a girl to let her imagination run away from her. She ruefully wondered if she should not have let herself enjoy a few more flights of fancy when she was younger. It might have better prepared her for the task ahead.

The sitting room was painted the same dingy gray as the rest of the house. On one wall, Hermione and Ron's boxes containing their possessions were neatly stacked. To the right of the door was a large fireplace with an ornate mantle that could just be seen under the dirt. Hermione briefly wondered if it was connected to the Floo network. After a moment, she decided it was not. That would create far too easy an entry to Grimmauld Place and Harry would never allow that. She made a mental note to speak to someone in the Floo Network Office about connecting the fireplace. It would raise eyebrows, the reconnection of a fireplace at the house where Harry Potter was known to have taken refuge from the world after the war, but Hermione felt she and Ron should have access to the network in case of an emergency.

Continuing her assessment, Hermione looked across the room to where she assumed there was a window behind the heavy drapes which hung in wilted folds. She could not guess when they were last opened. In front of the drapes stood a scarred and rickety old table that appeared to have seen its best days at least two centuries before. Next to the table were two hard-backed chairs that looked just as wobbly. On the fourth wall sat a sad couch in a faded shade of brown. The cushions on it were sagging in the middle and the whole piece looked as if it would swallow up anyone foolish enough to sit on it.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from sighing. While she had never been afraid of it, there _was_ a lot of hard work to be done.

"Well, that didn't take long."

Hermione looked to the doorway leading to the bedroom and saw Ron leaning against the jamb with a sour expression on his face. She had sent him to check out the bedroom while she took in the sitting room.

"How is it?" she asked.

"One piece of furniture. A lumpy old bed not even Crookshanks would sleep on," replied Ron.

"Well," said Hermione, trying to sound bright and enthused. "We _are_ starting a new life together, and that does include furnishing it."

Ron snorted. "And where do we sleep until then?"

Hermione looked at the floor and Ron, guessing what she was thinking, said, "You can't be serious!"

"It was just a thought," Hermione admitted. She again tried to contain a sigh and was only slightly successful. "Let me see the bed," ermione found the color to be depressing o

she said, stepping past the boxes and toward Ron.

The bedroom and bed were as bad as Ron had made them out to be. She turned to him and said, "I sure hope you're up to shopping for furniture after work this week."

Ron's response was merely another snort.

"For tonight, though," Hermione continued, "this will have to do." She pulled out her wand, pointed it at the bed and muttered an incantation. There was a quiet shimmer as the old, broken-down piece of furniture was transfigured into a bed with a plain, wood headboard and a slightly more comfortable looking mattress on top.

"That's more like it," said Ron, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "A bit hard, though," he complained. "Not at all up to your usual standards."

"Well," Hermione said sharply, her feelings hurt. She could have transformed the bed into a thing of beauty and comfort but, secretly, she truly wanted to go and buy a new bed with Ron. In her mind, one of the things a new marriage should start with was a new bed. Conjuring would work for other pieces of furniture but, to Hermione, they never felt quite as solid or long lasting as the old-fashioned, Muggle-built pieces like her parents had. "It's either that or the sagging sofa in the sitting room," she continued. "Take your pick, Ronald."

Ron grinned back at her. "Wherever you are, love."

Hermione laughed and joined Ron on the bed. "We'll fix it up," she said, taking his hand in hers. "It won't be so bad. Soon it'll be just like home."

Ron's grin faded and he looked at Hermione seriously. She opened her mouth to speak but Ron cut her off by placing a finger on her lips. "My home is wherever you are, Hermione. It doesn't matter if it's at the Burrow, here in some small, dirty rooms, or out in the Forbidden Forest with Aragog's children, as long you're with me."

Hermione felt her eyes getting watery. "We'll make this a good home, Ron. I promise."

Nodding, Ron said, "Yes, we will. And now," he leaned closer to her, "I feel like kissing my wife."

After trying out the transfigured bed, Ron and Hermione went back into the sitting room and started riffling through some of the boxes. They began to unpack only the items they would need in order to get through the next few days, as it did not seem to be a good idea to unpack everything until the rooms themselves had been fixed up and they were ready to find permanent homes for their belongings.

They opened several boxes and in the process of pulling out robes for work and other necessary items, Ron found his broomstick. When he thought Hermione was not looking, he tucked it into a corner. Standing back, he admired the placement of the broom and smiled as he thought the ugly room already looked a bit better and more hospitable.

Hermione, meanwhile, had come across her tattered school copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. She ran her hands over the cover sentimentally for a moment and smiled as she remembered all the pleasure and knowledge she had received from her various readings of this most favorite book. While Ron was placing his broom in the corner, she softly made her way to the fireplace and gently set the book on the mantle. She smiled and thought that it was actually starting to feel a bit like home now.

As they admired the two little pieces of their lives they had brought out, Ron and Hermione caught each other's eye and exchanged somewhat guilty smiles before heading back to the boxes.

Hermione had just returned from taking some towels into the bathroom and Ron was rummaging in a box for his favorite socks when there was a knock at the door. Startled, they glanced at each other before Hermione called, "Come in."

The door opened and Winky, barely visible behind the heavily laden tray she was carrying, walked in. "Winky is bringing Master and Mistress Weasley dinner," she announced as she moved across the room toward the table. Winky stared at the table with an expression of distaste while Ron appreciatively sniffed the air. He heard Hermione gasp as Winky suddenly walked out from under the tray and left it hovering in the air where she had been standing.

Settling her little hands on her hips, Winky glared at the offending piece of furniture. A high-pitched, "Hmph" was heard as she lifted a hand and snapped her fingers. Suddenly, the battered table was no more and an elegant, round table with carving on all four legs sat in its place. Another snap and the chairs matched the new table. Winky nodded her head and, returning to the tray, said, "Winky thinks a pretty cloth would be nice."

Hermione got the hint and, as Winky and the tray approached the table, she conjured a soft blue tablecloth that floated into place. Without pausing, Hermione also conjured matching napkins and chair cushions. Ron gave a happy sigh as Winky, aided by a solicitous Hermione, unloaded the contents of the tray onto the table. When it was empty, Winky gathered up the tray and gave both Ron and Hermione a beaming smile. "Winky hopes Master and Mistress enjoy their meal." She started toward the door but Hermione stopped her.

"Winky," said Hermione quietly, "we are not your master or your mistress. You do understand that, don't you?"

Ron rolled his eyes. She would never give up that SPEW business.

With a horrified expression on her face, Winky replied, "The Weasleys certainly _are_ Winky's master and mistress. They is residents in Master Harry Potter's house and his best friends and Winky works for them too. Though," she added sadly, "Winky must always side with Master Harry Potter's wishes when they differ. Winky is wishing…" The house-elf trailed off and hit herself in the head as though she had said too much. Saying nothing more, she left the room and shut the door quietly.

"Hermione," Ron started. She glared at him and he changed his mind. "Fine, let's just sit down and enjoy this great meal. Winky went to a lot of trouble and we wouldn't want it to be wasted, now would we?"

Without speaking, Hermione moved to the table and sat down. She took her napkin and settled it into her lap before looking up at Ron.

"There's something missing," said Ron, looking around. His face brightened as his eye fell on a box across the room on which the lid was askew. He remembered seeing them in there earlier. Ron pulled out his wand and thought, _Accio candlesticks_. A pair of crystal candlesticks that had been a wedding gift from Hermione's Aunt Ethel flew across the room. Ron grabbed them and set them down on either side of the large dish containing steaming shepherd's pie. He gave another flick of his wand and a pair of candles followed. Once they were settled, he lit them with his wand and smiled at his wife.

Hermione smiled back and lifted her glass. "To our new home," she said.

Raising his own glass, Ron replied, "Our new home."

On her first day back to work, Hermione took a moment during lunch to stop by the Floo Network Office. A young wizard greeted her just inside the office door and, when she told him what she wanted, he referred her to a witch on the far side of the room. A small plaque on her desk identified her as Madame S. Wilpott.

Hermione's request itself was greeted with indifference, as it was common enough. It was when she gave the address that the entire room grew silent.

"I'm sorry, you want a fireplace at _what_ address reconnected?" asked Madame Wilpott.

Calmly, Hermione replied, "Number twelve Grimmauld Place."

The witch's eyes grew wide and her thin eyebrows disappeared into her hairline as another voice in the room piped up. "Isn't that where Harry Potter lives?"

"Yes, it is," said Hermione. She could feel every eye in the office focused solely on her and she tried to stand still.

"Why do you want a fireplace at Harry Potter's house reconnected to the Network?" Madame Wilpott's eyebrows were still missing and Hermione really wished they would return to where they belonged.

Steeling herself, Hermione answered, "Because my husband and I are now living there also and we would like the fireplace in our rooms reconnected."

There was silence and no one moved. Madame Wilpott's mouth dropped open and, combined with her raised eyebrows, she looked a bit like a surprised seal.

A derisive voice from the far side of the room suddenly broke through the silence. "Who are _you_ to be living with the Chosen One?"

"That's right," seconded another voice. Hermione could not tell where it was coming from. "He hasn't been seen in over two years. I can't imagine he would suddenly allow someone to move into his house."

"What?" asked a third person. "Is he desperate for money and renting out rooms now?"

"Well." This voice was from a completely different direction. "_I_ heard he lost his mind when his girlfriend died."

"Much like that Weasley girl lost hers."

The women in the office had gotten caught up with the old gossip and they began rehashing the end of the war with gusto.

Hermione reached her breaking point with the small-minded witches. "You hear all sorts of rumors and falsehoods," she snapped, particularly angry at the comments about Ginny, regardless of the truth in them. "Not to mention that you are all perpetuating them by continuing to discuss them like this when you know _nothing_! None of you were there!"

A tall blonde witch sitting closest to Hermione asked waspishly, "And how would _you_ know? Like you were there any more than the rest of us."

Struggling to retain control, Hermione snarled, "I do know. I _was_ there!"

There was no immediate response as Hermione glared defiantly around the room. Finally, a timid voice said, "You're Hermione Granger, aren't you?" When Hermione nodded, the voice continued, "And your husband is Ron Weasley?"

There was silence as the others in the office realized who she was and that she had been one of the few in the Chosen One's inner sanctum. Finally, Madame Wilpott cleared her throat. "Well," she said, and every face in the room turned toward her. "Be that as it may, neither you nor your husband is the legal owner of the property in question."

Hermione's heart sank as the woman continued. "However, if Mr. Potter will sign this form," she held out a parchment bearing the official seal of the Floo Network Office of the Ministry of Magic, "then we will be happy to make the reconnection."

Hermione, still attempting to control her anger, took a deep breath to still her shaking hands. "Thank you," she said as civilly as possible while taking the parchment from Madame Wilpott.

She turned away from the witch's desk and as she did she allowed her eyes to linger on each person in the room. With a final glare at them all, she thrust her chin in the air and stalked from the office.

Ron sighed and looked at the clock on the wall opposite his desk. The hands on its face had not moved significantly since the last time he looked at it. The clock, a Christmas gift from Hermione and designed for the workplace, caught Ron's glance and waved one of its hands cheerily. Ron grimaced and returned his gaze to the haphazard mess on the desk before him.

Suppressing another sigh, Ron decided to take shorter holidays in future. Two weeks was simply too long to leave his desk unattended and at the mercy of others. After all, here it was Friday already and his desk was just as cluttered as it was on Monday when he had first returned. At this thought, Ron wondered when he had suddenly become so responsible and, after a moment, he decided it had probably not been so sudden but, rather, had been slowly developing for some time and was undoubtedly, at least in some part, influenced by Hermione.

Despite being hard at work all week—except for his lunches with some of the players who wandered over to the administration building after using the Cannons' superior training facility for some off-season workouts—Ron felt he had barely made a dent in the backed-up work sitting on and around his desk.

Rolls of parchment were scattered over the surface and piled dangerously high in one corner where they waited patiently for Ron's attention. A few rolls that had toppled off the pile earlier in the week rested on the floor. There were two broken quills tossed to one side and one of them was covered in black ink from when Ron had accidentally upset his ink bottle during a frantic search for a parchment detailing a Healer's report on Grover Hennessy, the Cannons' newest Chaser.

Now, as the end of the week neared, Ron wondered if he would ever make sense of the disaster before him. He briefly toyed with the idea of owling Hermione and staying late, but the thought had no sooner entered his head than he grimaced_. I'm beginning to sound like Hermione,_ he thought. _Though, I really don't fancy the idea of going back to Grimmauld Place._

They had been living at Harry's for just over a week now and it was anything but cheerful. Monday evening Hermione had returned to Grimmauld Place in a rage due to some incident in the Floo Network Office. After a quiet dinner in their suite, Ron suggested they do some of that furniture shopping they had discussed. The next evening was spent in much the same way, and there were now several tiny, little crates carefully arranged on the mantle next to Hermione's_ Hogwarts: A History_.

For he remainder of the week, they shared their dinner in the sitting room and then remained in their suite for the rest of the evening as they both seemed uncomfortable leaving their rooms unnecessarily.

As for Harry himself, he had not been seen by either Ron or Hermione since the day they arrived. Harry's location in the house; whether he moved about during the day when Ron and Hermione were at work; why he would not sign the Floo release that remained, unmoved, on the kitchen table; and his general state of mind, were all topics Ron had listened to Hermione chitter on about all week. Ron had finally wearied of the topic and when Hermione began on it for the umpteenth time the night before, he had turned to her and, without preamble, kissed her. It was a most effective way to silence her on the subject and led to a very enjoyable time for them both.

Ron smiled in remembrance of the previous evening and then sighed as he looked at the clock again. He had fifteen minutes left before he could go home and it would take that long just to sort through enough parchment to find something simple to take care of.

"Weasley!"

Ron jumped and then looked towards his boss' office. Wally Wervin stood in the doorway. He had a cigar clamped between his teeth and the buttons were straining on his robes as he strode forward toward Ron's desk. Wally's eyes flicked over the surface and Ron cringed inwardly, sure a reprimand was on its way.

"You've done a great job this week," Mr. Wervin surprised Ron by saying. "This desk is at least only half as full as it was on Monday. But, what I want to know is, what are you still doing here?"

"Er, excuse me, sir?" Ron asked, still shocked at the comment about his desk.

"Well, if I had a new wife at home and it was the end of the week, I'd be off as quick as a Firebolt to spend as much time with her as possible. As it is," he continued, "I've got an old wife so I only move as fast as a Shooting Star to get home."

"But, it's not time yet," said Ron, indicating the clock on the wall.

Mr. Wervin waved his hand at the clock. "Who cares what that thing says. Go home, Weasley. There's nothing you can do in the time left that will cause you to find the surface of that desk, anyway. You can pick it up again on Monday."

Ron tried to conceal a grin. "Are you sure, Sir? I can go?"

"Aren't you listening?" Wally Wervin was trying to look fierce now but instead, his expression made him appear as though he had an acute case of indigestion. "I said, GO!"

Ron did not hesitate. He stood up from the desk, said thank you to Mr. Wervin, and almost ran from the room.

When Ron opened the door to the sitting room, Hermione was sitting at the table moving small bits of parchment around. She looked up and smiled. "You're home a bit early, aren't you?"

"Yeah," replied Ron, walking up behind her. "Mr. Wervin let me go early. What are you doing?" he asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Well," said Hermione, "we're going to spend tomorrow painting and we need to pick some colors. I've narrowed the choices down to these." She indicated the parchment in front of her.

Ron looked at a small pile off to the side. "What are those? Rejects?"

"Exactly. Now," said Hermione, "which one do you like for the bedroom? I thought we'd paint in there first and I've narrowed it down to Gilderoy Gold or Horntail Honey." She pointed to two pieces of parchment with differing shades of pale yellow on them.

"Gilderoy Gold?" Ron asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Surely, you're joking?"

Hermione looked up at Ron and he could see she was clearly _not_ joking. He tried to be serious but all he could see when he looked at the samples on the table was yellow. What was the question, again? Oh, yeah. Which one did he like better.

"Well, I've heard that yellow isn't exactly a restful color, Hermione. Are you sure you want to put it on the walls in the bedroom?" Ron could not remember where he had heard this, but he thought it sounded knowledgeable.

Hermione snorted indelicately. "This coming from someone who grew up in a violently orange bedroom. Pick one, Ronald, or I'll just choose for both of us."

Ron suspected Hermione would make the final choice anyway but thought it was nice of her to pretend to include him in the process. He looked at the colors again. _Honestly, either one would be fine,_ he thought. _There really doesn't seem to be much difference anyway._ But then there was the unpleasant idea of having something called _Gilderoy_ Gold on the walls of the bedroom he was sharing with Hermione. Trying to keep his expression neutral, Ron pointed to one of the swatches. "That one," he said. "Definitely, that one."

"Gilderoy Gold it is," said Hermione, setting that swatch aside.

"Wait! That's not the one I picked," protested Ron.

"I know," said Hermione sweetly. "But it's the one _I_ picked."

Annoyed, Ron grabbed a random piece of parchment off the reject pile. "What about this one? I like purple. Why can't we have purple instead?" He realized he sounded like an idiot, but he could not let the Gilderoy Gold win without a fight.

Hermione's expression immediately turned sour. "Absolutely not," she said harshly, trying to take the swatch back from Ron. "I don't even know how I got that one. Give it back."

"Why? What's wrong with it?" Ron asked. "Why is Gilderoy Gold any better than…" he held the parchment up in the light to read the color name. "Oh," he said. "I think you're right. I don't think purple is a good idea after all." He handed the sample labeled 'Luscious Lavender' back to Hermione and watched her throw it on a plate on the table.

Hermione picked up her wand, held it to the parchment and muttered, "Incendio." Luscious Lavender went up in flames and they both watched until there was nothing left but ashes.

After a moment, Hermione cleared her throat and said, "I suppose Horntail Honey is a pretty color. What do you think?"

"I think Horntail Honey is an excellent color," agreed Ron.

A week later Ron had to admit the bedroom looked much better with the Horntail Honey on the walls. The ugly drapes had been replaced with some white, see-through fabric curtains Hermione called 'sheers.' The new curtains allowed in a great deal of sunlight and, with the yellow walls, the whole room was brighter.

They had moved the new furniture in a few evenings before and then spent the next evening putting away all their belongings that went in the bedroom. After celebrating the completion of the bedroom the night before, they had awakened early that morning to begin painting the sitting room.

Hermione had chosen a soft white color for the sitting room. Ron could not remember what silly name this color had but at least it was not named after anyone they knew. By early afternoon they had three walls painted when Hermione suddenly realized they were not going to have enough paint. "I can't believe I made such a mistake!" she groused. "I wanted to finish the first coat today."

Ron looked at his watch. "Well, it's still early yet. I could go and get more paint and maybe we could still get it done."

Hands on her hips, Hermione frowned at the room in general and then at Ron in particular. "I suppose we could try," she said gloomily. "But it's important to finish before dark so we can see if we missed a spot or if it's streaked or it isn't covered somewhere."

"When did you become an expert painter?" asked Ron.

The answer should not have surprised him. "I've been reading home improvement books. They're quite fascinating."

Ron suppressed a groan. "Okay, well, it's the middle of summer and there's loads of daylight left so why don't I just get more paint and we'll get right back to it?"

"No, I'll go," said Hermione firmly.

"Why can't I go?"

"Because I know where I'm going and what I want," Hermione answered.

"And you can't tell me where to go and what to get?" Ron was beginning to feel insulted. It was like she did not trust him.

"No."

"Thanks a lot, Hermione."

"I'm sorry, Ron. But you'll see something in a window or run into Fred or George or someone and it will be hours before you get back," explained Hermione.

"Once, Hermione. That happened once!" Ron protested.

"Honestly, Ronald. Just stay here and appreciate the opportunity to rest a bit while I'm gone. We're going to have to work very hard when I get back to finish this coat before the sun sets." Hermione picked up a small bag with some coins in it and walked up to Ron. "Besides," she said kissing him lightly, "the sooner we finish the sooner we can move on to other things."

Always open to the idea of 'other things,' Ron kissed Hermione back and said in a low voice, "You better hurry up with that paint."

With a grin, Hermione opened the door of the sitting room and ran down the stairs.

Ron sat down on the old sofa they had, for some unknown reason, covered with a sheet. As he sank into cushions that threatened to swallow him, he grinned and allowed himself to imagine his reward for finishing the first coat of paint in a timely manner. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes Ron thought a short nap would be a good idea.

Twenty minutes later, Ron's stomach growled. Keeping his eyes closed he tried to ignore it and concentrate on his nap. Hermione should be back at any moment and he would need his energy for painting. After several more growls, Ron finally gave up and decided he needed a sandwich. He opened his eyes and began trying to extricate himself from the sofa.

When he was free from the engulfing piece of furniture, Ron began a mental debate with himself. He knew by now that this was the time of the week when Winky ran errands pertaining to the running of the household; so if he wanted something to eat, he would have to get it for himself. Going down to the kitchen meant the possibility of running into Harry. Then again, neither he nor Hermione had yet to see Harry since moving in so maybe there was nothing to worry about. After another few minutes Ron decided he had better just go downstairs.

Once in the kitchen, Ron dug around and found the makings of a sandwich. When it was assembled, he put it on a plate and took it over to the large table where he sat down and smiled. If there was one place in the kitchen where he excelled, it was at making sandwiches. His stomach growled again in anticipation.

Picking up the sandwich Ron took a bite and sighed. _Perfect_, he thought. _Just perfect_.

He was on his third bite when the door to the kitchen slammed open. Startled, Ron dropped the sandwich on the plate and watched some of the meat fall out from between the bread. Without thinking, he cast a dirty look toward the door and encountered a dark glower. _Bloody hell,_ he thought. _Harry_.

Harry stood just inside the kitchen, his eyes shooting daggers at Ron. He looked very different than the last time Ron had seen him when he and Hermione first arrived. Ron thought this was how Hermione must have seen Harry that day she had flown here on Buckbeak. She had said he did not look like himself, but more like a shadow of who he had once been. As Ron looked at the flashing eyes in Harry's pale face, and took in his dirty, disheveled appearance, he wondered if there was any way Hermione's plan of helping Harry could possibly work.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Harry demanded.

Ron swallowed. "Just having a sandwich," he answered. "Hermione—"

"I don't care about Hermione!" Harry shouted. "I asked what _you're_ doing here. How dare you eat in my kitchen! You're supposed to be in your rooms!"

"What? Blimey, Harry. I'm just eating a sandwich. It's no big deal." Ron was mystified as to why something like this would make Harry so angry.

"I don't care! Eat it upstairs!"

Ron stared at Harry. He and Hermione had spent weeks tiptoeing around the house and trying to avoid Harry. Ron had been anxious about not running into him, but he had no idea Harry's reaction would be this extreme.

Slowly standing up, Ron said, "You're being ridiculous, you know. I'm not doing anything that violates any of your rules, and if you wanted me to take my lunch upstairs all you had to do was ask nicely."

"The rules are subject to change," snarled Harry, stepping away from the doorway.

Ron got the hint. He was reaching down to take the plate with him, when he felt a sudden jerking motion at his heel. In the next instant he was hanging upside down and the remnants of his sandwich were scattered over the floor beneath him.

Ron twisted in the air until he could see Harry, his wand still pointed toward Ron. "What did you do that for?" he demanded.

Harry smirked and Ron cringed at the dead look in Harry's eyes.

"You didn't move fast enough," said Harry, lowering his arm and stuffing his wand in the back pocket of his jeans. He gave a mirthless chuckle and then left the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

Ron hung upside down in the kitchen for an hour before he heard the back door open. All the blood had rushed to his head and he thought it was going to explode. Trying to control his movement so he did not swing too wildly, Ron turned to see who had come in.

Standing just inside the back door with a container of paint in one hand, Hermione stared at Ron in astonishment.

"What happened?" she asked incredulously.

"I got bored waiting for you to come home and just decided to hang around in the kitchen," Ron answered sarcastically. "What do you _think_ happened?" he demanded. "Harry happened! Now, get me down!"

Hermione set down the paint and hurried forward. Taking out her wand, she gently lowered Ron to the floor. He lay flat on his back for a few moments, trying to regain his equilibrium. Ron recounted the incident to Hermione, whose eyes grew wider with each sentence.

"I can't believe he would do that," she kept saying.

Struggling to sit up and getting annoyed, Ron said, "Oh, no, Harry would _never_ do such a thing. That's why you came in and found me hanging upside down!"

"Ron, I'm sorry, it's just…I guess I'm just so shocked," she answered.

"You're shocked?" asked Ron. "I'm the one who hung in the air for an hour. What took you so long, anyway? You said you were going to go, get paint, and be right back."

Hermione's face turned pink. "I'm so sorry, Ron. I ran into Padma Patil and she was telling me the most fascinating things about her job in Greece and I guess…I guess I just lost track of time."

Ron scowled and moved his feet that were tingling as the blood began to return to them. "Tell me again why you wouldn't let _me_ go get the paint?"

Hermione looked abashed. "I'm sorry, Ron. I really am."

"Yeah, well," said Ron. "You're not going to get your first coat finished like you wanted."

"I know," she said.

"And _I_," he added, "better still get the reward you promised me."

A slow smile began to spread over Hermione's face. She reached out and, taking Ron's hand, helped him to his feet. "You will," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Don't worry, you will." Hermione led Ron from the kitchen and back up to their rooms.


	10. Chapter 10 Trials

Chapter X

Trials

Hermione sat quietly on the grass in the garden of the Burrow. It was a warm Sunday in mid-September and she and Ron had followed their normal Sunday routine of visiting Ginny at St. Mungo's, and then coming to the Burrow for the weekly Weasley family dinner. Hermione had brought, as she always did, a large salad that everyone always commented on. She had, at one time, tried to contribute something more to the meal, but one Sunday, after a particularly disastrous attempt with some pasta, sauce, and a burnt cauldron not even magic could clean, Fleur had artfully mentioned that she always loved Hermione's salads. Hermione had gotten the hint, but not without first noticing Fleur's kindness and tact.

This Sunday they had also celebrated Hermione's birthday with an exquisite cake made by Fleur and a special punch concocted by Angelina. There had also been gifts and, at one point, Hermione had found herself tearing up at the kindness of her family. The Weasleys had always celebrated Hermione's birthday but this year, now that she was _officially_ one of them, Hermione found herself even more moved by the efforts made on her behalf. The gifts had actually been quite simple but had such meaning to them. Bill had made an elaborate wooden stand that would fit nicely on the mantle in the sitting room. It was designed to hold a single book, open to whatever page Hermione might want highlighted.

Fleur had not only made the cake for her, but also put together a book that was filled with Weasley family recipes. These were dishes that had been made by Mrs. Weasley and her mother-in-law before her and on back many generations. When Fleur and Bill married, Mrs. Weasley had passed these recipes on to Fleur, and she would have done the same for her other daughters-in-law had she been living. Where Fleur had simply received the recipes, she had taken them and bound them into an elaborate book with a cover of the finest dragon hide. On the cover was written, _Weasley Kitchen Wonders_ in an elegant script and at the bottom, in the same script, was _Hermione Weasley_. Interspersed throughout the book, were photos of various members of the family, usually accompanying a recipe for a dish they favored. Next to "Blood Sausage" was a photo of a very young Ron in a high chair, wearing a big smile and holding the aforementioned food in both hands above his head.

Angelina also had a book for Hermione but it was a beautifully bound diary with Celtic knots on the cover. There was something of a glow to the knots as beads of light moved along their lines highlighting the fact that they had no beginning or end. Fred also got into the spirit with a perpetual, self-inking quill that changed color depending on the mood of the writer.

George's gift was one that surprised Hermione and she gasped when she opened it. He had taken her bridal bouquet that she had thrown at him a few months earlier and created a charm that kept the flowers as fresh and dewy as if they had just been picked that morning. The bouquet itself was inside a large box that had been designed to cradle it and keep it safe.

The last gift Hermione had received had been from Mr. Weasley, as Ron was saving his to actually give her on the day. In a large box was a quilt made of different fabrics sewn together. Much of it was maroon and bright orange. "Molly made it," her father-in-law told her. "I forgot about it until about a month ago. She saved things belonging to the children as the years went on, and when they went to Hogwarts she started a quilt for each of them and worked on it all seven—well, six in the case of Ron—years they were there. Those are all pieces of various clothes and other items that were important to Ron as he grew up."

"Oh, Mr. Weasley. It's just beautiful!" Hermione exclaimed. While the colors were not exactly her favorite, the fact that this quilt represented Ron's life, made it priceless to her.

While she looked at the quilt in awe, George leaned in and pointed at a piece of it. "Look," he said, "lace from those awful dress robes Ron wore to the Yule Ball."

Sure enough, when Hermione looked more closely, she could see the ugly lace in various places on the quilt. She looked up at Ron and smiled. His ears turned red as they both remembered those awful robes and they grinned at each other.

Now, as the day wound down, Hermione sat quietly and listened to her sisters-in-law conversing while their husbands—and George—played a rousing game of Quidditch, and Arthur Weasley puttered around in his shed dissecting some Muggle mobile phones Perkins had acquired for him.

Fleur and Angelina sat quietly watching Girard chase Crookshanks about the garden while Alaric dozed in his basket at Angelina's feet. They were talking about their children and Fleur's second baby that was due at Halloween.

Fleur was gently rubbing her belly and discussing the baby names she and Bill were currently considering. "I am partial to Pierre, but Bill is quite serious about naming the baby Albus."

Frowning, Angelina replied, "That's an awful lot to live up to, don't you think?"

"_Mais, oui_!" exclaimed Fleur. "Zat is exactly what I keep telling Bill."

Silently, Hermione agreed that any baby named after Professor Dumbledore would find himself growing up with a lot of probably unreasonable expectations on his little shoulders. On this, Hermione agreed with Fleur. She smiled to herself as she suddenly realized Fleur and Angelina were only discussing boys' names. It appeared no one in this family expected to see a Weasley girl for at least another generation.

"Does Bill have a second choice?" Angelina asked and the two women continued their name discussion.

There was a shout from above and Hermione looked up to see Ron pumping his fist in the air while George beamed and Bill and Fred looked quite put out. Hermione smiled again. Obviously, her husband had just made a brilliant save and Bill and Fred were not pleased about it.

Hermione's smile faded as she looked up at her triumphant husband sitting happily on his broomstick. She had seen him smile little of late. Ever since what Ron had taken to calling, "The Great Kitchen Incident," he had been subdued and quiet. He was staying longer at work, spending extra time using the Cannons' training facilities as well as claiming there was a lot to do with the new season coming up.

Hermione knew from past experience that Ron's work did get busier as the start of a Quidditch season approached, but never had he been gone from home this frequently or for such long stretches. If she did not trust her husband implicitly, she might suspect him of having an affair.

Ron's behavior at home had changed as well. Ron and Hermione were still forced to come and go by leaving Grimmauld Place through the kitchen and Apparating in the back garden. Ron moved quickly and quietly through the halls of the house as though trying to spend as little time in them as possible. Through the kitchen (a room he had oddly seemed to take a great dislike towards) Ron would practically run, taking time only to glare at the still unsigned parchment from the Floo Network Office lying on the kitchen table. Hermione knew Ron was wishing Harry would just sign it. Then Ron would not have to move through the house at large at all. He could simply Floo to and from where he needed to go and the only part of Grimmauld Place he would see would be his and Hermione's suite.

This all made Hermione feel rather sad. If they did not run into Harry, there would be no way to have any kind of influence over him or to try and bring him out of his shell. She knew Ron was upset at having been left to hang upside down in the kitchen for an hour and she deeply regretted the incident, but she wished Ron would see it as the progress it was. It meant they had already started to get through to Harry; they were having an effect on him.

Hermione's brow furrowed as she thought of another way they seemed to be getting through to Harry, and it was not anything she could have imagined when she had first thought of her and Ron living at Grimmauld Place. Further, it had quite impacted their love life.

About a week after the kitchen incident, Ron and Hermione were engaged in romantic activities in their bedroom when there was a sudden and loud—almost as if it had been magically amplified—crash directly above them. It was as though something very large and heavy and made of glass or, Hermione suspected, crystal, had just exploded.

Startled, Ron had roughly pulled his lips away from hers while Hermione had suddenly jumped. Her unfortunate, knee-jerk reaction had resulted in a pained gasp from Ron who immediately rolled off and away from her. Had Ron actually been able to speak, Hermione was sure she would have been treated to some very unpleasant language.

Not too long after this incident, Hermione and Ron had been involved in some serious foreplay that included heavy tickling and high-pitched giggling. Just when things started to get serious, there was a loud clanging as something heavy and metallic rolled down the stairs from the floor above, along the hallway past their suite, and then proceeded down the next flight of stairs. Hermione later found a very old and very large, silver-plated cauldron at the bottom of the stairs on the first floor.

Jumping apart, with no damage to any of Ron's anatomy, they sat in silence as they waited for their breathing to return to normal. It had become clear at that point that Harry could most definitely hear Ron and Hermione's more passionate moments and was determined to be nothing short of a first-class prat.

"Well," Hermione finally managed as Ron glowered. "We'll just have to make sure we cast a silencing charm from now on."

"Oh, yeah," snarled Ron. "That'll really allow for those spontaneous moments."

"Ron," Hermione began.

Getting up from the sofa, Ron said, "I don't want to hear it, Hermione." He glared at her for a moment, daring her to try and defend Harry. Just as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, Ron beat her to it. "I'm going to bed," he said.

After that, Ron had been home less and less and Hermione became the one to initiate all physical contact after carefully—and quietly—casting a silencing charm around the suite. If she knew the exact whereabouts of Harry at these times, she might even have tried to use the muffliato curse she hated.

Hermione sighed and was brought out of her reverie by a shriek from Crookshanks. Looking across the garden, she saw her cat—left behind at the Burrow when Ron and Hermione moved to Grimmauld Place—hissing at a particularly vapid looking garden gnome. Girard was sitting in the dirt nearby with a surprised expression on his face and his hand on one ankle.

"Girard!" Fleur called. The little boy looked towards his mother and Fleur waved him to her.

Girard got up and ran to her. Standing in front of her chair, he pointed to his ankle and said, "It grabbed me!"

"Oui! I saw that," answered Fleur. "Can I see it?" Girard held out his leg and Fleur looked at it carefully. "Well," she said after a moment, "it looks like it's going to be just fine. It was good your friend Crookshanks was there to defend you, was it not?"

Girard nodded. "'Shanks is my friend."

Hermione smiled at this and it made her glad she had left Crookshanks here when she moved. It had not been much of a choice, really. Neither she nor Ron thought the cat would be happy or even comfortable at Grimmauld Place, and neither of them knew how Harry would take Crookshanks' presence. Finally, Ron had said, "Leave him here where he can be outside and have fun torturing the gnomes. He really seems to enjoy that."

Just then the men, their game apparently over as darkness headed in, landed nearby. Bill handed his broom to Ron who, with the twins, walked to the broom shed.

Approaching his son, Bill swung Girard up in his arms. "Did a gnome try and get you?" he asked.

The little boy nodded solemnly and pointed to his ankle.

Bill looked at Girard's ankle then said, "It doesn't look too bad."

Girard shook his head and propped an elbow on his father's shoulder. "'Shanks saved me."

"Did he now?" When Girard nodded, Bill continued. "Well, I think he deserves an extra special treat, then. What do you think?"

Girard's face brightened and he eagerly asked, "Really? Can we?"

Laughing, Bill replied, "I think this is as good an occasion as any." Looking at Fleur, Bill asked, "Need anything, dear?"

Fleur shook her head. "No, zank you. But, I zink it is time for bed after ze treat."

"And I think we should be going," said Ron as he and the twins walked up.

Hermione took the cue and got to her feet. "It is getting late," she said, dutifully.

Bill took Girard in the house to get a treat for Crookshanks, and Ron and Hermione followed to gather up the salad bowl and Hermione's birthday gifts. They then began the always-long process of saying good-bye to everyone. This included the arduous task of retrieving Mr. Weasley from his mobile phones in the shed. Finally, they were able to Disapparate back to Girmmauld Place.

Ron carefully unlocked the door and held it open for Hermione. She stepped into the kitchen and paused while Ron set the salad bowl on the table. Winky would take care of it, and next Sunday it would again be filled with a lovely salad. Hermione hated taking advantage of Winky this way, and in the first few weeks she had lived at Grimmauld Place, Hermione had attempted to make the salads herself. Each time, Winky had caught her at it and reprimanded Hermione for doing Winky's work, and, very forcefully for such a small creature, taken over. It was a fight but, in the end, Hermione conceded defeat.

Behind her, Hermione could feel Ron getting antsy. She knew he wanted to get to the safety of their rooms as quickly as possible. Hermione deliberately moved as slowly as she could get away with. She wanted Ron to learn there was nothing to be afraid of.

By the time they reached the first floor, Hermione could practically hear Ron's teeth grinding behind her. She admired the way he was trying to subtly rush her by placing his hand on her back and gently increasing their pace.

Taking care to make it seem like an accident, Hermione stopped to shift her armload of gifts and took her time arranging them while Ron shifted his feet. She realized they were engaged in a battle of wills and her competitive nature kicked in. She would get upstairs to her rooms in her own time. Not even Ron could force her to move faster!

After what seemed like an eternity to both of them, they got up the stairs and were almost to their suite, when a voice from the landing above caused them to stop.

"Home at last, are we?"

Hermione looked up while next to her, Ron shifted the quilt he was carrying and reached for his wand.

Harry was leaning against the wall and casually flicking his wand back and forth at the floor.

"Harry!" said Hermione brightly. She was determined to set a good example for Ron. "How are you?"

Harry scowled. "Just _ducky_, Hermione. Thanks for asking." He pushed away from the wall and took a step down the stairs. Ron stiffened.

Hermione struggled to find something else to say but everything she could think of would break at least two of Harry's rules.

Harry took another step. "What's the matter, Hermione? Kneazle got your tongue?"

She opened her mouth to retort but Harry, taking a third step down towards them, beat her to it.

"Or are you saving all your conversation for Ron?" he asked snidely.

Hermione frowned. "What?"

"You certainly don't seem at such a loss when the two of you are in your rooms."

Harry was still moving down the stairs, and in such a menacing fashion, that Hermione was paying very little attention to what he was saying. His tone and the glint in his eye, however, told her he was goading her.

"Actually, I think the only words I hear are along the lines of 'Oh, Ron' and 'Yes, Ron.'"

"Wh—"

Cutting her off, Harry continued. "I don't think I've ever heard you _squeal_ like that before."

Ron understood a split-second before Hermione did. His wand was out in front of him and there was a flash of red light and Harry was thrown back against the steps.

She could feel her face was bright red as her mouth made a soundless, little 'O'.

As Harry struggled to a sitting position, Ron, his wand still pointed at his former best friend, shouted, "Don't you _ever_ speak to my wife like that again!"

Hermione knew she should do something or there would be a full-out war in the hallway, but she continued to stand motionless, gaping at Harry. On the one hand, there was the mere embarrassment that someone other than Ron had heard her in such a personal situation, though they had figured out it was happening and taken steps to try and prevent it. On the other hand, was the fact that Harry had not only heard these things, but that he was flinging Ron and Hermione's physical relationship back at them in a way that was meant to debase it. This crass behavior was something she never would have expected of Harry and it stunned her.

"What does she look like, Ron?" Harry's voice again claimed Hermione's attention. "Does she throw her head back when she screams your name? Does she leave nail marks on your back? Was she always as eager for you as she sounds, or did you have to work for it?"

There was an explosion in Hermione's ear as Ron shouted. The curse hit its mark squarely and Harry hit the floor with a thud. Dimly, Hermione realized Ginny was not the only Weasley with a strong bat-bogey hex.

Harry simply smirked up at them and continued. Looking Ron in the eye he asked, "So, is our little bookworm really that good between the sheets?"

Ron lunged and Hermione yelled, "Ron, no!"

There was a mirthless chuckle from Harry as Hermione dropped her gifts on the floor and grabbed Ron's sleeve to try and hold him back.

"That's not how I usually hear it," Harry just had time to say before Ron's fist connected with Harry's jaw.

Ron loomed over Harry as he rubbed his jaw, and Hermione pulled her husband by the arm, entreating him to back off. Whirling around to look at Hermione, Ron yelled, "Did you hear him? Did you hear what he said?" His face was red with rage.

Hermione bit her lip before answering. "Yes," she said. "I heard him. And I love you and that you're defending me. But," she added, "will you give me a chance to speak for myself, now?"

Ron paused and his eyes searched Hermione's face. After a moment he stepped aside, growling into her ear as he did, "Fine. But leave me a clear path, just in case."

Nodding, Hermione walked over to Harry who, despite still showing evidence of Ron's hex, gave her a leering once-over that left Hermione feeling as though she needed a shower.

"Get up," she told him.

Harry gave a laugh. "You don't order me around," he said, getting up anyway. "This is _my_ house. You do what _I_ say."

He stood over her smirking, and Hermione felt almost afraid of this strange man who used to be her friend. Then, his gaze traveled down her body and back up again and, before Ron could react, Hermione slapped Harry in the face.

Startled, Harry lifted a hand to touch his face where Hermione had just hit him.

"You disgust me," she snarled, amazed at just how much she was revolted, not only by the entire incident but, also, by the man in front of her.

Then, suddenly, it was there. She saw it in his eyes. A brief flicker of the pain she had seen the day she had come on Buckbeak to ask if she and Ron could live at Grimmauld Place for a while. He had seemed so much more human that day, and she wondered what had given him this hard edge he had recently been displaying─or had it always been there, and it was just now easier to see?

As long as she had stuck the dagger in, she thought she might as well give it a twist.

"And I am _so_ disappointed in you."

Shaking her head sadly, Hermione slowly turned her back on him and walked back to Ron. They picked her birthday gifts up off the floor and, without a word, they entered their sitting room. As soon as the door shut, Hermione cast a silencing spell. Setting the gifts down, she then promptly burst into tears, and Ron took her in his arms.

Two weeks went by during which neither Ron nor Hermione saw or heard Harry. Other than the noises they made as they moved about their suite and the halls of Grimmauld Place when they came and went, the house was perfectly silent. Even Winky seemed quieter than usual.

Despite a late night Quidditch practice that Ron's boss had required him to be at, Ron awoke early for a day off. It was a Gringott's holiday and most of the Wizarding world shut down and had a break from their various normal routines as a result.

Since the episode in the hallway, Ron and Hermione had been silent with each other as well. The atmosphere in the house as well as Harry's behavior and the busy time at work for Ron, left them both more tired and tense than usual. Ron was grateful for this extra day off with no responsibilities, and he intended to spend the day with his wife and see if they could move past the previous and difficult month. He had no idea how he would start the conversation, and he was sure he would make a mess out of it more than once, or even twice, but he was determined to try.

Stretching, Ron reached beside him to find Hermione was already up and off doing something or other. Most likely she was in the sitting room, reading. Ron decided that since he was awake he might as well get up. Sitting on the side of the bed, he ran a hand through his hair and over his face and reckoned he ought to shower and shave before joining Hermione.

He stood and picked his wand up off the bedside table. Shortly after they got married, Hermione and Ron decided that whoever slept in had to make the bed and Ron, giving a lazy flick of his wand, proceeded to try and do just that. The blankets, pillows, and duvet flew just as lazily into place and Ron frowned. Hermione would not be pleased when she came in and saw what was currently passing for a well-made bed. Giving a sigh, Ron gave another flick with his wand and everything flew back off the bed. Then, waving the wand carefully at each sheet, blanket, and pillow in its turn, Ron more carefully made the bed. Finally convinced that his work would pass inspection, Ron headed into the bathroom for his shower.

Twenty minutes later Ron was just finishing dressing, when he heard a crash and a scream. Mindless of his wet hair and bare feet, he grabbed his wand and ran out of the bedroom. Hermione was not in the sitting room as he had earlier surmised, and he flung open the door to the hallway. Once he got his bearings, Ron realized the scream had come from below and he raced down the stairs. On the first floor he slowed as he saw Harry standing in the doorway to the drawing room.

Harry was shaking his head and muttering, almost to himself, "I'm sorry. Merlin, Hermione, I'm _so_ sorry."

Shoving Harry aside, Ron looked in the drawing room and gasped. A window on the far wall had been shattered and there was glass everywhere. In front of it, Hermione was leaning forward in a chair with her hands up to her face. Her face and arms were both streaked with blood.

Ignoring the fact that his feet were bare, Ron hurried forward to kneel in front of Hermione. Her eyes were open wide as she looked at him, seemingly in shock. "Hermione?" he whispered.

"Ron," she said quietly, her eyes focusing on his face. "I was just reading. I came in here because the light looked so nice through the window."

"It's all right, love," Ron tried to reassure her. He was anxious to know exactly where the blood was coming from.

"The window broke," she finished lamely.

"It was me."

Ron heard Harry behind him but did not turn around to look. He was trying to get Hermione's hands away from her face, but she held them fast.

"I saw her in here and I just…I didn't expect…" Harry tried to continue.

Pushing aside his anger at Harry—not an easy thing to do, especially under the circumstances—Ron concentrated on getting Hermione out of the chair. He needed to get her to St. Mungo's and they needed to go _now_.

"Come on, love," he coaxed. "Let's just get out of the chair." Ron put his hands under Hermione's elbows and gently pushed them upwards to convey what he wanted her to do. She resisted for just a moment, and then stood shakily.

"Good girl," he said as he lifted her in his arms. She still had her hands up to her face and Ron was frightened to think what she might be hiding.

At his words, Hermione blinked and seemed to start returning to herself. "Ron, you don't have to carry me."

"I want to," he insisted, starting for the door.

At the doorway, Harry blocked their exit and stared at them. His face was white and his eyes wide as he said, "Ron, I didn't mean…"

"I'll deal with you later," said Ron, trying not to snarl in case he upset Hermione. "Now, get out of the way. We have to get to St. Mungo's."

Harry moved and Ron hurried down the stairs to the kitchen with Harry right behind. He was striding towards the door when he heard Harry ask, "Ron, why don't you just use the Floo?"

Trying to keep his anger in check, Ron paused just long enough to half-turn and glare at Harry. "Because this house isn't attached to the network and you won't sign _that_," he nodded toward the parchment on the table, "allowing us to reconnect the fireplace in our rooms. Now," he said shortly, "if you'll excuse us."

Ron resumed his course to the kitchen door and waved his wand at it. The door swung open and he stepped out into the garden, turned on his heel, and Apparated himself and Hermione to St. Mungo's.

The St. Mungo's waiting room appeared before them and, despite her protestations, Ron carried Hermione over to the reception witch. The blonde looked them over, snapped her chewing gum, and asked, "What happened?"

Hermione, who was feeling much more herself after the uncomfortable sensation caused by Apparition, was beginning to feel uncomfortable that Ron would not put her down. She looked at the reception witch and simply said, "Broken window."

The witch replied, "Artifact Accidents. Ground Floor. Go through that door and take a left, then a right, and another left and you'll be at the desk. They'll register you there."

Ron turned quickly and headed to the door the witch had indicated.

When they got to the desk in the Artifact Accidents ward, a kindly wizard took Hermione's information and then led them into a room where Ron set her gently on a bed. Promising a healer would be in to attend to them soon, the wizard left.

Hermione finally moved her hands away from her face, and Ron looked at her with concern. It was the first good look he had gotten of her since arriving in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place. When he blanched, she wondered just how awful she looked, and she glanced around to see if she could find a mirror. Not seeing one, she settled for looking at her arms. There were numerous cuts all up and down them, more on her right arm than her left as she had been sitting sideways in the chair with her right side facing the window. She could feel them stinging and, judging by the stinging on her face and some on her neck and right shoulder, she could only imagine the damage.

"How bad is it?" she asked Ron.

After looking at her more carefully for a moment, he gave a half-hearted grin and said, "You're still my Hermione."

She tried to scowl at him and then winced, deciding it was important to keep her expression neutral. "Ron. I mean it. How bad is it?"

Sobering, Ron replied, "Well, it doesn't look good but I'm sure the healers will have you back to normal before you can say 'hippogriff.'"

Hermione sighed as she thought about what Ron said.

After a moment Ron spoke. "What happened, Hermione?" he asked, softly.

"I wanted to read," she answered. "I was in our sitting room for about a half hour, but I'm so bored of looking at those walls so I decided to see if there was somewhere else that I could go with my book. I went down to the drawing room and, after looking around for a minute, I remembered what a beautiful window there was behind those dark, ugly drapes."

She looked at Ron and he nodded. "I remember having to wash that window," he said. "Without magic."

Continuing, Hermione said, "I opened the drapes and there it was. The window was filthy." She gave Ron an apologetic look. "I cast a cleaning spell and the sunlight just came through so brilliantly and I was just longing to sit in it, so I transfigured one of those old chairs into something more comfortable and settled in."

"And then Harry came in," stated Ron, acidly.

"I don't know how long I was sitting there reading, and I didn't even know he'd opened the door. It was just, suddenly, the window exploded," she finished weakly.

"Yeah, I'll just bet it did," Ron's ears were turning red.

"Ron," she said quickly in an effort to keep him from getting angrier. "I don't think he meant to do it."

"There you go, defending him again. Of course he meant it!" The red was beginning to seep into his cheeks.

"No, really. He didn't even have his wand out. It was like he just lost control and that's what happened." Hermione insisted, trying desperately now to keep Ron from losing his temper. "Remember when he blew up his aunt?"

Ron nodded and Hermione said, "I think it was like that." She saw a muscle tighten in Ron's jaw. "Please, Ron," she pleaded. "He didn't do it on purpose."

Shaking his head, Ron said, "I don't get it, Hermione. Look what he's done to you! You're sitting here in St. Mungo's, all cut up and covered in blood, and you're defending the person who did it to you. It's not like he hasn't been harassing and threatening us since we moved into Grimmauld Place. What is it going to take to make you see that we can't help Harry, and we shouldn't be there?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply when a healer in lime green robes walked into the room. "Well, what have we here?" he asked, cheerily, looking at a parchment. "Mrs. Weasley?" The healer looked up and saw Hermione. "Oh, my," he said, his practiced smile sliding off his face.

"You can fix her, right?" asked Ron.

The healer did not answer but, instead, said, "How did this happen?"

"I was sitting near a window," answered Hermione.

After waiting a moment, the healer said, "And, it attacked you?"

"Something like that," said Ron sullenly.

Forgetting her earlier rule of no facial expressions, Hermione glared at her husband and then winced again. The healer clearly noticed and, taking out his wand, cast a hovering charm on the parchment before going to examine Hermione.

"By the way," he said as he carefully took Hermione's chin in his hand and lifted her head to see more clearly, "I'm Healer Ramsey." He muttered a spell and slowly moved his wand over Hermione's face and down her neck, cleaning up the streaked blood that had begun to dry.

Hermione would have said it was nice to meet him if he had not had such a strong grip on her face. Ron simply stood behind the healer and watched anxiously. Finally, Healer Ramsey said, "Yes, I think we can take care of most of this with no problem."

"_Most_ of it?" Ron asked the question for both of them.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," answered the healer who had to look up to meet Ron's gaze, but still managed the appearance of looking down on him. "And I think it would be best if you waited outside There's a waiting room just by the desk where you checked into the ward."

"But—" Ron began to protest.

"Out." There was a brief exchange of glares and scowls but Healer Ramsey finally won and Ron slunk to the door.

"I'll be just outside," he said to Hermione.

"It's fine, Ron," she answered, trying to give him a brave look.

As the door shut, she turned to the healer and asked, "How bad is it? Now that my husband is gone, I want the truth."

Healer Ramsey sighed. "I can heal most of the cuts without a problem," he answered. "But there are a few that will scar."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Badly?" she asked.

"We'll see," he said and held up his wand, "Now, keep as still as possible. This is going to take awhile."

Ron fidgeted in the hard chairs in the waiting room. He hated waiting rooms. For that matter he hated hospitals. One only got bad news in them. The small Wizard who had checked Hermione in had wandered by a couple of times and offered to get Ron some pumpkin juice or tea and apologized for the fact that the hospital did not have anything stronger. Both times Ron had just grunted at the wizard.

Looking up at a clock on the wall, Ron silently cursed and looked at the door to Hermione's room. She and the healer had been in there an awfully long time. He let out a breath, slouched down in the chair, and stretched his legs. It was then that felt something sharp and, looking down, he realized his feet were still bare. "Great," he muttered. "Just great."

Crossing his ankle over his knee, he looked at the sole of his foot. It wasn't nearly as bad as Hermione's face, but there were several cuts from when he had run into the drawing room and walked on the shards of glass surrounding Hermione. The pain he had felt was from a piece of glass that was embedded in his heel.

Ron gave an exasperated sigh and looked around for the reception wizard. _Of course_, thought Ron, _he's_ _nowhere to be found now that I need him._ "Hello?" he called, not wanting to stand on the glass. "Hello?"

There was no answer from anyone and Ron threw his head back in annoyance. It clunked against the wall and he grimaced. _This has just been a bloody fantastic day,_ he thought, trying to pick the glass out himself. Once he had a grip on it, the shard came right out and the cut bled afresh. He inspected his foot to see if there were any more wayward pieces stuck in it. When he did not see any, he switched legs and looked at the other foot that was also crisscrossed with cuts. "Ow!" Ron swore as he found a small piece of glass in that foot as well. He removed it and continued his perusal. After finding one more piece and pulling it out, Ron let his foot fall back to the floor where it left streaks of blood.

Finally, Healer Ramsey came out of Hermione's room. He stopped in the corridor and glanced into the waiting room. When he located Ron he said, "Ah, Mr. Weasley. You can go in and see your wife now. "

"How is she?" Ron asked, standing up.

"Just fine," answered the healer. "We're going to give her some potions and she should keep quiet for a few days, but she'll be just fine."

Ron felt relief flood through him. The only thing keeping him from Apparating back to Grimmauld Place and strangling Harry was his worry over Hermione. Once he had checked on her he would proceed to do just that.

Ron started towards the healer and skidded a bit. Regaining his balance he continued on with the intention of seeing Hermione.

"Er, Mr. Weasley?" Healer Ramsey had noticed the slip and looked down to see the trail of blood Ron was leaving on the floor behind him.

"Yeah?" asked Ron pausing.

"May I ask what you did to your feet?"

Ron looked down. He had not realized his feet were still bleeding that much and was shocked by what he saw on the floor. "I was in such a hurry to get to my wife," he explained, "that I didn't stop to put on shoes."

Ramsey shook his head. "You two are quite the pair, aren't you?"

At that, Ron found himself grinning. "We always have been," he replied.

Hermione sat quietly at the table under the window in the sitting room. It was early, but Winky had already been by with cereal, fruit, pastries, and juice. Hermione was determined to eat healthy and she tried to encourage this in Ron by only allowing Winky to make fresh, healthy food. The pastries were a compromise.

She was writing in the journal Angelina had given to her for her birthday when she heard her name.

"Hermione? Ron?"

She looked up to see Mr. Weasley's head in her fireplace. When she and Ron had returned from St. Mungo's, they had found the parchment from the Floo Network Office had been signed and slipped under the door to the suite. Hermione had been thrilled that something good had come out of all the earlier ugliness and she was convinced more than ever that she could get Harry to soften up and return to the world he had left behind when he locked himself in Grimmauld Place.

Hermione had returned to the Floo Network Office and everything had come to a standstill the moment she had walked in. They all watched as she had triumphantly put the release in the middle of Madame Willpott's desk. The woman had squinted down at it momentarily and then her eyes bugged out and her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline again.

"When will my fireplace be reconnected?" Hermione asked, arching one of her own eyebrows.

Madame Willpott had sputtered a moment before saying, "I'll put you to the head of the queue. It should be connected by tomorrow afternoon."

"Good," Hermione said. "Thank you." She turned to leave and allowed her gaze to fall on every one of the stunned employees she had reprimanded back in the summer. Then, nose in the air, Hermione had sailed out of the office.

Getting up from her chair, Hermione greeted her father-in-law. "Good morning, Mr. Weasley. How are you today?"

"Oh," he said distractedly, "fine, fine. Is Ron around?"

"I'm afraid he's still in bed."

"Well, that's all right. I just wanted to tell you that Fleur went into labor during the wee hours," said Mr. Weasley and Hermione felt her face break out into a giant smile. She was not surprised as Halloween had come and gone three days earlier and Fleur had remained pregnant.

"That's wonderful! You will let us know when the baby arrives?" She asked.

"Oh, that's what I'm doing now."

"The baby's here already?" Hermione knelt down in front of the fireplace, eager to learn as much as possible.

"Yes, he arrived just about an hour ago. Etienne Charles," Mr. Weasley beamed. "A fine strapping boy just over 4 kilos!"

"My," said Hermione, "so big!"

"Yes, yes. But, you know," confided Mr. Weasley, "they get bigger as you go along."

Hermione remembered reading that somewhere but she had honestly thought it to be an old wives tale. She hoped any further children Fleur had would not be significantly larger. "When can I come see him?" she asked.

"I knew you were going to ask that so I asked Fleur. She said you can come any time. She can't wait to show him off."

"I think the Cannons are playing tonight, but I'll ask Ron when he's available," said Hermione.

"Hermione," chided Mr. Weasley, "you don't have to come with Ron. You can always come by yourself, you know."

Feeling herself going pink at the reminder that she was family, Hermione said, "Tell Fleur I can't wait."

They said good-bye and Hermione sat back on her heels. Another Weasley grandchild. She grinned. And another Weasley _boy_. So far, she thought, they've all been right about the boy thing!

Just then, Ron staggered through the door in search of breakfast and she proceeded to tell him about their newest nephew.

Hermione sat at her desk feeling bored. Strangely, she was not in the mood to attend to her work. Of course, there wasn't much of it anyway. Her excellent scheduling skills standing her in good stead, she had finished everything that was due for the next ten days.

Staring at a wall in front of her, she thought what an ugly color this room was. Immediately, she smiled as she thought about her inviting bedroom with its sunshine colored walls and the restful sitting room where she spent most of her time at home. She would never admit it to Ron, but she had become a bit nervous herself about roaming through Grimmauld Place since Harry had shattered the window. She was still convinced it was unintentional, but she did not know what his other reactions might be should he come upon her or Ron. However, Hermione was still convinced that they were doing him some good. They just needed to patient. Harry had been a hermit for two years and getting him to come out of his shell, especially after all he had been through, was not something that would happen overnight.

The more Hermione stared at the office walls, the more restless she became to do something about them. She sighed as she realized she was stuck with these walls as they were not hers to paint. _However,_ she smiled to herself, _I could paint the corridor outside our suite. After all, Ron and I have to look at it every day and surely Harry wouldn't mind. It's just one hallway and I doubt he notices the wall color as he walks by. _

Getting out her weekend planner, Hermione picked up a quill from her desk and dipped it in ink. She saw that Ron did not have to attend any Quidditch games and she grinned while she wrote, _Paint hallway walls_ in the space for the next day. She would stop and pick up the paint on her way home from work.

Ron stood in front of the blank wall with his wand out in front of him. He watched disinterestedly as paint flowed out of the wand and onto the wall. Every now and then, he would glance around warily to make sure he and Hermione were still alone in the hallway. Of course, he had no doubt they would be instantly aware of it should Harry appear. Ron wished he knew where Harry was in the house so he knew in which direction to look. He still thought this was a stupid idea.

Hermione had come home the night before with several containers of paint and a plan. "We're going to paint the hallway outside our suite," she had announced. Ron cautiously asked why and she told him she was tired of the dingy gray walls.

"What about Harry?" Ron had asked. "Don't you think he might be a little upset that you've just decided to paint his house?"

"We live here, too," said Hermione. "Why should we have to look at ugly?"

Trying to maintain a neutral expression, Ron said, "Hermione, do you even remember what happened the last time you ventured out of our rooms?"

She frowned at him. "That was a long time ago, now," she reassured him. Ron did not think two months was that long. "Besides, we use this hallway all the time. It's not like we're painting the whole house."

Ron had not been sure then and he wasn't sure now. He suspected that once Hermione saw the difference between the newly painted walls and the old ones, she would decide to paint all the corridors. Aside from the fact that Ron did not feel like spending all his days off painting someone else's house, he was more nervous about Harry stumbling on them in the act than anything else. If, as Hermione maintained, he had not meant to shatter the window in the drawing room when he had discovered Hermione reading there, then it would seem he had very little control over his magic these days and, in that case, anything could happen.

Ron risked a glance at Hermione who was gently moving her arm up and down a section of wall down the hallway from him. The healer had been able to heal all her cuts but there were some that had left scars that nothing could be done about. Healer Ramsey, however, had tried to make these scars as small and insignificant as possible. For a month, both he and Hermione had been forced to drink three different potions, all of which he thought were vile but that she claimed tasted fine. One of them was to replenish the blood they had each lost, the second was to prevent infection, and the third was supposed to help prevent scarring—though Ron was not sure why he need be concerned about any scarring on the soles of his feet. Hermione had left St. Mungo's with about fifteen scars but this third potion had continued to work on them and only four remained.

She had a long scar on the back of her right hand and she claimed it made her feel distinguished when she was writing. Then there was a smaller scar on her forearm and the two scars on her face: one on the edge of her jaw that was small and white and only noticeable in certain light, and one about an inch long at her hairline on the right temple.

The scars bothered Ron. _Not,_ he thought, _that they make me love her any less._ But they made him think of the rocky start this marriage was having and whenever he looked at them, he could not help but think that he should never have agreed to try living with Harry at Grimmauld Place. He should have put his foot down and said no as had been his first instinct.

Suppressing a sigh, Ron realized that never would have worked. Their marriage might have been filled with a bit less strife but Hermione would always be wondering what if? _What if_ they had moved in with Harry? _Could_ they have helped him? These questions and more would plague her over time and Ron would feel that he had let her down by not letting her have the chance to try.

"Ron!"

Turning, Ron saw Hermione scowling at him. "What?" he asked.

"Pay attention to what you're doing," she told him.

"I'm painting," Ron argued.

"No you aren't," said Hermione. "You were spraying paint and looking around."

"How is that _not_ painting?" Ron complained.

"You didn't move your wand to cover the entire wall and now there's a great spot of paint all in one place." She came over to stand next to him and inspected the area she was talking about. "Look," she pointed out. "It's all dripping down the wall."

Giving Ron a dirty look, she pointed her wand at the paint Ron had applied and said, "Scourgify." The wall was instantly cleaned of all wet paint. "Now," Hermione said darkly, "pay attention to your work."

Ron rolled his eyes, a Hermione-trait he had picked up sometime over the years, and when she turned away to go back to her section of wall, Ron stuck his tongue out at her back. Then, dipping his wand into a container of paint to refill it, Ron started over. He honestly though painting walls was not exactly the best use of a wand but, who was he to say?

They were almost done with their painting when Harry appeared. Ron thought he heard footsteps and froze. He had been about to refill his wand again and he continued leaning over the paint, listening for any more odd sounds. He did not hear any and, after a moment, he straightened and looked around. Hermione was touching up around a door down the hall near the stairs that led to the first floor. Nothing else looked out of the ordinary and Ron began to relax.

Wiping his wand off on a rag he turned back to look at the section he had just finished and found Harry standing there glaring at him.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked Harry in a deadly voice. Ron wondered if Harry had spoken to Voldemort that way and if that was what had done the dark Wizard in.

"We, er, were painting," answered Ron lamely, hoping Harry would just go away and Hermione would not even know he had been there.

"I see that. Who said you could paint _my_ house?"

Before Ron could reply, he heard Hermione's voice behind him. "Harry," she called and walked over to stand next to Ron. "What do you think? We thought this hall could use a little brightening up!"

Ron felt Hermione's smile falter when Harry did not answer but simply glowered at them.

"Who said you could paint my house?" he repeated.

"Well, we were just painting the hallway we use," answered Hermione. "We didn't think you would mind."

Ron felt that this was an inopportune time to point out that there had been no 'we' involved in the decision-making regarding the painting of any hallways. He watched Harry closely for any signs of potential trouble.

A vein pulsed in Harry's forehead, highlighting his scar as he turned away. Ron was about to let out a sigh of relief when Harry suddenly turned back, wand in hand, and yelled, "Stupefy!"

Ron was not sure whom Harry was aiming at, but the curse hit Hermione full in the chest and she went flying backwards into the wall. The back of her head hit the wall with a soft thunk and she slid down until she was sitting dazedly on the floor.

"Hermione!" Ron went running to her.

"I'm all right. I'm all right," she insisted, sitting up and rubbing her head.

Ron saw the tears in her eyes and something inside of him snapped. He couldn't do this anymore. He could not sit by and watch while Harry repeatedly hurt the woman he loved. What would it be next time? Would he catch her on the stairs and send her over the banister? Would he cause irreparable harm with some other spell; perhaps something dark and deadly that Ron did not know about?

_No_, he decided, _this can't continue._

"That's it, Hermione," he said, helping her to her feet. "We're leaving."

She blinked and looked at him. "What?"

"We're leaving. I've had enough. We can go back to the Burrow until we find something else."

Shaking her head, Hermione said, "I'm not going anywhere."

Trying not to grind his teeth, Ron replied. "Well, I'm not staying."

Neither of them spoke for a minute and Ron was aware of Harry, still standing where he had been when he stunned Hermione, listening avidly to the conversation.

"What are you talking about, Ronald? This is our home," insisted Hermione.

"Our _what_? Hermione, this has never been home. No matter how much we tried it has _never_ been home. At home you don't feel as if you can't walk into and out of the house without being punished for making noise or being in the wrong place. At home you don't feel locked in and confined to one set of rooms. At home you aren't afraid of having a snack without winding up hanging in the air for an hour." He paused to take a breath then, trying to drive his point home, said, "At home you can read wherever you want without fear that a window will suddenly break and scar you for life."

A floorboard creaked as Harry shifted his feet.

"We can't stay here anymore, Hermione."

She shook her head at him. "I'm not leaving, Ron," Hermione insisted. "All those things you listed? They're exactly why we need to be here. Can't you see it? We're getting through. If we leave now then we will have failed."

Ron snorted. "And we all know how you feel about failing at something, don't we?"

Hermione's cheeks turned pink. "At least I'm not afraid to try," she retorted.

Ron felt his face begin to burn. "I tried, Hermione. _I tried._ Why can't you understand that I simply can't stand by and watch while someone hurts you? And not only once, but over and over and over again."

"I'm _fine_, Ron. There's nothing to worry about."

Reaching out with one hand, Ron gently touched the scar at Hermione's temple and watched as she tried not to flinch. He gently caressed the pink line and said, "I worry about this." He moved a hand to her jaw. "And this." Running his hand down her right arm he touched the remaining scars, lingering on them each briefly to make his point until he was holding her right hand.

He saw her eyes tear up and knew he was getting through to her. "I love you, Hermione. But I can't do this anymore. I just can't sit here and continue to watch the woman I love get hurt like this," he said softly.

Hermione shook her head. "I can't leave, Ron. I feel we're so close." The tears began to spill over and rolled down her cheeks. "Why can't you see it?"

"Because all I see is you," he answered.

When Hermione did not respond, Ron, searching her face, whispered, "Come with me." His eyes pleaded with hers and there was utter stillness all around them.

Finally, Hermione shook her head and Ron dropped her hand. He looked at her harshly and said, "Well, I guess Harry isn't the only one who has a saving-people thing."

With that, Ron walked past Hermione and down the stairs until he reached the front door. He waved his wand and the door opened as he approached. Stalking out of the house and down the walkway, Ron reached the street and turned to the right without thinking of where he might be going and simply kept walking.

Not once did he look back.


	11. Chapter 11 A Day Apart

Chapter XI

A Day Apart

As she watched her husband's retreating back, Hermione stood motionless in the corridor with an expression of surprise on her face and with an oddly blank mind. Any second now he would come back and tell her it was all a mistake.

He reached the stairs and started down, and she waited. When he got to the bottom, she was sure he would look up. He didn't. Then he was striding across the foyer and when he got to the door, she expected him to at least glance in her direction. Instead, the door opened and he stalked through, slamming it behind him.

And, just like that, he was gone.

She felt her jaw drop and she thought, _This can't be happening. Ron did not just walk out of here. He did not just leave me._

It felt like an eternity before she was able to command her body to move. She turned to head into her sitting room and saw Harry standing behind her. She had forgotten he was there. She did not know why she had forgotten; this was _his_ fault. He had provoked Ron. In fact, the more Hermione thought about it, the more she felt that Ron would be back as soon as his anger at Harry had subsided. Ron would realize leaving her was not the answer to the issues Harry was having.

_You're being daft, Hermione,_ said a voice in her head. _Harry may be part of the problem, but don't you think it might have something to do with you, too?_

"Shut up," she said aloud.

Harry blinked. "I didn't say anything."

"I wasn't talking to you," she snapped and Harry looked around, apparently wondering just who Hermione _was_ talking to.

"Hermione," Harry started, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you. I meant to hit Ron."

"Oh," said Hermione sarcastically, "and that makes it all _so_ much better."

"Look, Hermione—"

Glaring at him, Hermione snarled, "Sod off, Potter!" She then stomped into her and Ron's suite and slammed the door.

Ron walked away from number twelve Grimmauld Place in a fury. Hermione had chosen Harry. It was the only thought he was capable of processing and he paid absolutely no attention to where his feet were taking him.

Hermione had chosen Harry.

He should have known it would come down to this at some point. It always did. Harry always got everything while he, Ron, always came in last. And now Harry had taken his wife. It may have been her choice, but that was exactly the problem.

_Well,_ he thought, _I hope they're happy._ His feet slowed a bit as his brain processed that thought. No, he really did _not_ hope they would be happy. It was not that he was wishing unhappiness on anyone, despite how miserable he was feeling at the moment. But, rather, it was that he could not find it in himself to think of her getting along without him. Or of Hermione being happy with someone other than him.

_But you have to,_ he told himself. _You just walked out and left Hermione with Harry; and she didn't come after you. Clearly, she's made her choice and it doesn't include stupid, second-rate, Ron. _

He had to admit, he had expected her to come after him, or to at least call out to him. He was surprised that she had not. _But why would she?_ he asked himself. _You gave her an ultimatum. You know how she is. Make her choose, and she'll always go the other way just to be contrary._

_But I really thought we had something. I thought we had something special. I thought we had that forever kind of love,_ he thought sadly. _But apparently it just wasn't strong enough._

Ron felt like crying. He had not cried since the end of the war and the night they had gotten Bill and Ginny's diagnoses and he had told his family about having killed Percy. He had hoped never to feel that devastated again but this, he felt, was a thousand times worse. He may not have killed anyone, though the impulse to cause permanent damage to Harry had been difficult to restrain during the past few months, but he still felt as though someone had died.

The more angry Ron felt, the faster he walked and he continued thus for quite some time. A few times he walked into people who cursed at him when he just kept going. He barely noticed having bumped into anything.

It was not until darkness began to fall and Ron's feet became achy that he slowed his steps and, finally, stopped to look around him. He had no idea where he was. Muggle London was still a mystery to him and here he found himself in the heart of it. Gazing at the various buildings, he saw a pub across the street but he doubted he had any Muggle money on him. In fact, it was just beginning to dawn on him that he had left the house with absolutely nothing but his paint-spotted wand that he still clutched in his right hand.

Stuffing the wand in his back pocket, Ron checked the rest of the pockets in his jeans just in case he had some kind of money on him, although he had no idea where he would be able to change Wizard gold into Muggle money. His hand closed on something and he pulled it out of his pocket. In disbelief, he looked at the pieces of paper and wondered how in the name of Merlin they had gotten into his pocket. He wondered how much he had, but decided it was not wise to stand out on the street trying to work through it.

With another look at the pub across the street, Ron decided he would see about getting a drink. He really needed to sit down and decide what his next move would be.

Ron stood briefly just inside the pub and tried to see through the smoke. He wondered if someone had set off some Dungbombs, although the smell was not quite right. A woman with dark hair piled high on her head came up to him.

"'Ello, luv," she said with a smile that showed large crooked teeth; the front two were pink as they had been smeared with the lipstick she was wearing.

"Er, hello," answered Ron, awkwardly.

"Would you like a table or would you care to sit at the bar?" asked the woman.

Ron thought about it for a minute. "Er, could you tell me—" He reached into his pocket and withdrew the money he had found earlier. "Do I have enough money for a drink?"

The woman's heavily made up eyes widened and she looked at Ron's money. After a moment she seemed to sense that he was serious and gently took the paper from him to count it. When she finished counting, she looked up at him as she handed the money back and said, "You have enough for at least two drinks, luv. Why don't you take a seat at the bar and tell Joe what you want." She pointed to an empty seat at the bar and Ron headed over.

Sitting down, Ron wondered just what Muggles drank. He looked at the other patrons around him and saw several with large, funny shaped glasses of something dark and foamy. He thought that looked rather promising.

"What'll it be, mate?"

Ron looked up to see a burly man on the other side of the bar. He assumed this was Joe. "Uh, I'll have one of those," he said, pointing to one of the dark drinks on the bar in front of another patron.

"Pint of Guinness it is," said Joe, walking away.

The barman returned a moment later and set a glass down. Ron held out a note to him and hoped it was enough. Apparently it was, as Joe left again and came back with Ron's change. He stood there staring at Ron for a moment. Ron stared back. Clearly, he was missing some part of the Muggle drinking ritual.

The dark haired woman sidled up next to Ron. Taking a note out of his hand, she gave it to Joe who took it and left. "You've got to tip the barman, luv," she told Ron. She gave Ron an appraising look and then leaned on the bar. "What's your name, luv?"

"Ron."

Holding a hand out to him she said, "I'm Carla. Nice to meet you."

Ron knew this Muggle tradition and held out his own hand.

"So," Carla continued, "what's your story?"

"Er, my story?"

"Yeah, your story. What brings a handsome, young bloke into an out-of-the-way pub that serves mostly old regulars? And you're clearly not a foreigner, so why don't you seem to know money or how to tip?"

Ron's hand curled around his glass. He had not even had a chance to take a sip of the drink. How should he answer this strange woman with the pink teeth? Was it really even any of her business? And why did she care, anyway? Ron was debating these issues when a voice rang out.

"Oy, Carla!" Ron turned and saw the barman gesturing toward Carla.

"What?" she yelled.

"Get back to the door. We got people over there need to know where to go."

Looking at the door, she made a face. "It's only the old Wallaces," she muttered to Ron. "They always sit at the same bloody table every Saturday night. They don't need _me_ to tell them where to go." Patting Ron's arm, Carla said, "I'll be back, luv."

Ron took a sip of his drink and then licked some foam off his upper lip. He thought it might be what mead tasted like but he could not be sure. The last time Ron had drunk mead, he had been poisoned and he had stayed away from it ever since. _This, though,_ he thought, taking another sip, _isn't too bad._

Sitting quietly on his stool, Ron had time to think about what had happened that afternoon. He thought about everything that had led up to his leaving. The more he thought, the more depressed he became, until his head was drooping practically to the point of resting on the smooth surface of the bar.

"Drink up, lad," said an older man, clapping Ron on the back and sitting on the empty stool next to him. "Can't be all that bad."

Nodding, Ron said, "Yeah. It can."

The man ordered a drink and looked at Ron. "What happened, mate. Girlfriend dump you?"

Ron looked up. The man next to him had short, graying hair and a slight growth of beard. He had crow's feet and weathered skin and eyes that gave Ron the impression the man had seen a lot of sorrow. He seemed like someone who would understand. Taking a gulp of his ale, Ron said sadly, "No. I left my wife."

"Wife? You even old enough to be married?" asked the man as Joe set a pint in front of him.

"Yeah. We got married in June but we've been together forever before that. I feel like I've known her my whole life." Ron was afraid he was going to start crying.

"What happened, mate?"

"She chose Harry." Ron took another swig.

"Harry? Friend of yours?"

Blinking, Ron looked at the man. Then he remembered this was a Muggle pub and no one here had ever heard of the Boy-Who-Lived. Even if Ron mentioned his full name, no one would nod knowingly or call Harry the Chosen One. No one would ask Ron what it was like to be Harry Potter's best friend.

"He _was_," said Ron. "Then he saved the world and hid away. Hermione thought she could save _him_."

"Save him from what?" Carla asked from Ron's other side. Apparently, old Mr. and Mrs. Wallace had been seated satisfactorily.

"Himself, I think. She was convinced of it. 'We can do him some good,' she kept saying." Ron's glass was now empty and he looked at it sadly.

"Joe!" The man next to Ron snapped his fingers at the barman. "Bring this lad another drink. He just split with his wife and needs some comfort."

A fresh pint appeared before Ron and he thanked the man.

"Think nothing of it. I'm Mick, by the way." They repeated the hand-shaking gesture.

Carla and Mick continued to ask Ron questions about his split with Hermione and others along the bar started to listen in. When Ron's second glass was empty a third appeared and Ron heard, "On the house, mate."

Soon, everyone down the bar had ordered a drink for Ron and he was unsure how many pints he'd actually had. All he knew was that, somehow, he was telling how Hermione had kissed him before his first Quidditch match.

"First _what_?" asked Carla.

"It was a sport we played at school," Ron tried to think how to explain it, but his muddled brain could not quite come up with the words─or the fact that these were Muggles and he should not even have mentioned Quidditch to them─so he gave up and left it at that.

"There was a song," he started. He tried to remember the words and soon was teaching the other patrons "Weasley is Our King." As another pint came his way, he started singing it. Loudly. Soon, the entire pub was singing along.

After several very repetitive choruses, Ron stood and waved his hands in the air, conducting. As the song finished, he displayed a bit too much exuberance and found himself falling off his stool. Laughing hysterically, he found several hands thrust at him as people tried to help him up. Grabbing one at random, Ron felt himself being hauled to his feet where he swayed and almost lost his balance again.

"Whoa, there, mate," said Mick, laughing. "Maybe you've had enough."

Carla was brushing Ron off and asked, "Should we call you a taxi, luv?"

"What?"

"A taxi. To take you home."

"Don't have a home anymore," said Ron shaking his head sadly.

"You got a place to stay?"

"Nope."

The pub patrons, who, just a moment ago, were so entertained by Ron, looked at each other. As sorry as they felt for the redheaded lad, none of them were willing to take him home with them. Most of the men who had been providing Ron with drink had wives who were already likely to be angry their husbands had spent the evening down at the pub. They would not react well to the appearance of another inebriated sod arriving at their homes.

It was Carla who finally spoke up. "All right, then Ron. You'll just have to come home with me." She looked at Joe. "I'm off now anyway," she said.

Slipping behind the bar to grab her handbag, Carla called out, "Someone get me a taxi."

A few minutes later, Ron found himself sitting in the back of a car with Carla. He suddenly felt very tired and alone. Looking at Carla through bleary eyes, Ron found himself reaching for her knee. She looked at him and smiled and did not remove his hand.

Hermione sat on the sofa in the sitting room. She had her arms and legs crossed and she glared angrily at the fire as though it had done her a grievous wrong. She had huffed out loud several times and was shaking her dangling right foot nervously, though the effect was really wasted, as there was no one there to see it.

_Any minute now,_ she told herself. _Any minute now he's going to Floo and tell you what a terrible mistake he's made. _She repeated this thought over and over, yet the fire simply continued to crackle merrily and there were no signs anyone was trying to contact her.

She switched legs and continued to glower at the fireplace. Ron had been gone for hours. It was almost dark outside now and the little voice in her subconscious that seemed to be trying to tell her things she did not want to hear, appeared to think Ron was not going to return. She told the voice to piss off and it was quiet again.

There was a knock at the door and Hermione snapped, "Come in."

The door opened and Winky walked in, preceded, as usual, by a tray bearing Hermione's dinner. When she saw there was only one plate, she felt her eyes tear up.

As Winky made her way to the table under the window, she said, "Winky is not thinking Mistress Weasley should be speaking that way."

Hermione looked at the house-elf and saw the frown that was being thrown her way. Before this afternoon, Hermione would have immediately felt awful for speaking to Winky in that tone but, at the moment, she found herself not really caring.

"Sorry," she managed, insincerely.

Winky gave her a measured look as she placed the tray on the table. She started taking things off and setting a place for Hermione. "Master Harry Potter says Master Weasley will be dining out this evening and Mistress is alone," she said.

Hermione frowned. It almost sounded as though Harry knew something she did not. Then she decided that Harry would have known if Ron had returned. As her friend was so fond of saying, this was _his_ house. But the phrase that really stuck with her was _Mistress is alone_. She again blinked back tears.

"That's right, Winky. Ron is out tonight," said Hermione, remaining in her seat on the sofa. She watched as Winky finished at the table and lifted the tray off. Winky stood looking at Hermione for a moment as though awaiting further instructions. Finally, Hermione said, "Thank you, Winky."

The house-elf made her way to the door. She opened the it to leave and gave Hermione one more strange glance. At that point, Hermione saw Harry standing in the hallway beyond Winky and looking into the sitting room with curiosity written all over his face. His expression brightened as he met her eyes.

Hermione paced the length of the room. When she had begun, it had been a mad, unorganized pacing but, as was so often the case with her, the longer she had done it, the more refined it became. She took seven steps from the door and crossed in front of the fireplace. At the end of the seventh step she pivoted smartly on her heel and took the same seven steps back to the door where she began the process all over again.

The remains of Hermione's uneaten dinner had been cleared away some time earlier and she had been stewing ever since. The little voice in her head was becoming stronger and she was having a more difficult time ordering it to go away.

_He has to come back,_ she thought acidly, _all his things are here. He doesn't even have a change of clothes. _

The little voice seemed to disagree. _If he went to the Burrow he could have borrowed clothes from Bill, _it reminded her.

_And he would have told them what happened, _Hermione thought, frowning. What would he have said? Would he have made all of this out to be her fault? How would he have slanted or twisted what had happened?

The voice reprimanded her. _You know he isn't like that,_ it said. _You know he would never paint you in a bad light. He probably told them he made a mess of it and took all the blame on himself. _

Hermione's first thought was that Ron _had_ made a mess of things. He never should have left.

_Hermione,_ warned the voice, but she ignored it and pivoted.

_Miserable prat,_ she thought. _Leaving me like this. What did he think he was doing? He knew the point to living here was to help Harry. How can he not have seen the progress we've made? _ Hermione huffed and glared again at the fireplace. As she did so, the moving photographs on the mantle caught her eye. She allowed herself a quick glance over them as she walked by, but then her footsteps hesitated.

There, in the middle of the mantle next to the polished rosewood box that contained the marriage wand, was a photo of them on their wedding day. Ron was standing behind her and had his hands on her waist while she looked lovingly back over her shoulder at him. They both had big smiles on their faces as Ron leaned in and kissed her. She remembered that moment so well. George had been giving his toast and they had been standing quietly, ostensibly listening to him but really not paying attention at all. They had been completely unaware of Colin Creevey standing right in front of them with his camera. The flash went off as they were kissing and they had jumped, both of them giving Colin a somewhat surprised and annoyed look. But Colin had worked his camera magic, and the photo only showed them kissing and then pulling apart to look into each other's eyes.

As she stood staring at the photo, she heard the clock in the foyer begin chiming and tears started forming in her eyes. She vaguely counted the chimes, the tears becoming more difficult to keep in check with each gong. They finally spilled over with the twelfth and final chime.

With the midnight hour, everything suddenly became intensely real in a way it had not been before and Hermione felt overwhelmed. Ron was really gone. He had left her. They were always supposed to be together and had vowed that, no matter what happened, they always would be.

Not thinking about her actions, Hermione grabbed the wedding photo off the mantle and, with a snarl, hurled it against the door where it smashed resoundingly against the wood. Pieces of crystal flew and the photo itself fluttered to the floor. Hermione looked at it for a moment before sinking to her knees where she buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

There was a flash of green light and Ron watched stupidly as Neville fell to the ground. His ears were filled with the sound of maniacal laughter as a Death Eater in front of him pointed a wand at his sister. "No," Ron wanted to shout as he tried frantically to fight the curse that had left him powerless on the ground.

Green light flashed again and Ron feared the worst. "Ginny," he whispered. But, looking up, he saw a Death Eater lying on the ground and his baby sister was pointing her wand at another Death Eater. This one took his hood off and Ron gasped. Percy!

Ron fought harder and found himself able to move a bit. He continued to desperately fight the Impediment curse that had hit him a few minutes earlier. He knew Percy could not be trusted; had always known it. He watched as Ginny lowered her wand. As Percy raised his, Ron, with everything bit of strength he could muster, struggled to his feet and held out his wand. Now it was a matter of who could say it faster. Percy started first and Ron knew he had to hurry.

As fast as he could say the words clearly, he shouted, "_Avada Kedavra_!" Green lighted flared out of his wand and Percy fell, lifeless, to the ground.

"No!" Ron jerked himself awake.

The nightmare was back. He had not had one, had not relived it, since getting married and he wondered why it was back now.

He managed to open one eye that felt as though it had been glued shut. He quickly closed it again as he was overwhelmed by a spinning sensation. Deciding to risk another nightmare, he reached for the body next to him and, just after noting that Hermione felt a bit different, he fell back to sleep.

Several hours later Ron woke again and this time he was able to open his eyes without feeling like he was going to throw up, at least not immediately. He blinked as the thought occurred to him that something was not quite right. Instead of the horntail honey he had become accustomed to, the walls around him were a strange color that reminded him of moldy celery.

He frowned and sat up, taking in several things at once. He was alone and undressed in a bed that was decidedly uncomfortable. His clothes were tossed over a chair in the corner and he could see his wand poking out of a back pocket of his jeans. Looking next to him on the bed, Ron could see the imprint that told him someone else had been there not too long ago. Vaguely, he remembered having held someone during the night, but it could not have been his wife.

Suddenly the events of the day before came rushing back to him: Hermione, Harry, drinking in a pub, a woman with pink teeth who had sat in a car with him. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the chorus to Weasley is Our King.

He looked at his undressed state and had a very bad feeling as he thought about the dark-haired woman, Cora or something. He suspected that he might have done something extremely stupid.

Just then she walked into the room and when she saw him staring at her she said, "Ah, finally awake then, luv?"

He looked at her smiling pleasantly at him and managed, "Er, yeah." He thought she looked a lot different than she had the night before. Her long straight hair hung limply down her back and the thick make-up she had been wearing was, save for some black smeared under her eyes, almost gone. She was also wearing a rather sleek nightgown that clung to her and left very little to the imagination.

"How do you feel?" she asked sitting on the bed. It was all Ron could do not to be rude and move away from her.

"Been better, I reckon," he answered, blinking to keep her in focus.

She laughed softly and Ron noticed that her teeth were no longer pink. "I would imagine. You drank quite a bit last night."

She reached a hand up to his head, and Ron tried not to flinch as she ran it through his messy ginger hair. "You are adorable when you first wake up, you know," she said wistfully.

Ron did not like how close she was. His mind was capable of only two thoughts: _Please tell me I didn't, please tell me I didn't,_ and, _This woman is nothing like my Hermione_.

"Well," she finally said and Ron wished he could remember her name. "You need to get up. I've a tonic you can drink for your hangover but then, I'm afraid, you'll need to be getting on. My boyfriend went away for the weekend but he'll be back shortly. As he can be a bit possessive, it wouldn't be wise for you to be here when he arrives." She stood and added, "I'll leave you to dress."

As soon as the door shut behind her, Ron, ignoring the pounding in his head, jumped out of the bed and grabbed his clothes. Dressing as quickly as possible, he checked for his wand and then headed to the door.

He walked out of the bedroom with the ugly walls and looked around. The entire place was painted in colors that reminded Ron of things from Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class. The lounge appeared to have been painted Blast-Ended Skrewt and the kitchen, where he could hear the woman moving around, reminded him of the Giant Squid when he walked into it.

"'Ere you go, luv," she said as she handed him a glass. He took a sip and grimaced. "Ah, now, don't let the taste be getting to you. Finish it up quickly and I guarantee you'll be feeling like new in no time."

When the glass was empty he handed it back to her, said "Thank you," and watched while she put it in the sink. He knew he had to leave but there was something he really wanted to know before he did. "Uh, Carol?" he asked.

She raised her eyebrows and looked at him with a smirk and he wondered what he had said. Finally, she spoke for him. "You want to know if anything happened last night, don't you?" When he nodded she continued. "Well, not that I would've minded, but no. You passed out the minute you fell on the bed. Although," she added, "you did put your arms around me in the middle of the night, but as you'd just awakened screaming, I thought I'd let it be." Cocking her head at him she said, "Actually, it felt right nice. My Guy, he never holds me."

Ron nodded stupidly. He felt enormously relieved. "Well," he said, "thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome, luv. Now," she ushered him to the door, "you best be on your way or Guy, well, there's no telling what he'll do if he finds you here."

As Ron opened the door, she called to him again. He turned around and looked at her. "No matter what happens," she said quietly, "Your wife is, at the very least, lucky to have had someone who loved her so much."

Hermione frowned and opened her eyes. Looking around blearily, she realized she had fallen asleep on the sofa in the sitting room and was covered with the quilt Mr. Weasley had given to her for her birthday. She remembered sitting on the floor and crying until it felt as though there were no tears left. Hiccoughing, she had managed to get herself over to the sofa where she'd curled up in a corner with a cushion. She must have then fallen asleep.

Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, she wondered about the quilt. She most certainly did not remember retrieving it from the bedroom where it was kept, folded neatly, across the end of the bed. Gazing around the room she saw that Winky had been by with her breakfast and Hermione decided it must have been the House-Elf who had gotten the quilt. Hermione looked toward the door and saw that Winky had also cleared away the broken pieces of frame from when Hermione had flung the wedding picture against the door. She looked around the room briefly and wondered where the photo itself had gone, as she did not see it anywhere.

She felt stiff and sore from having slept on the sofa all night and thought taking a shower might help. But, a few minutes later, Hermione found herself still sitting on the sofa, holding the cushion. There was a vague thought that maybe she would eat her breakfast first, but she remained where she was as food was not in the least bit tempting to her.

Instead, she thought about Ron and wondered where he had gone. Her first thought was the Burrow where everyone would have gathered for the weekly feast. Since she had not heard from the Weasleys wondering where they were, she guessed that was where he must be. In a way, it relieved her to think he had gone to family but, on the other hand, she wondered what he might have told them and what they must be thinking of her.

She remembered the first time she had worried what Ron might think of her. It was her first time aboard the Hogwarts Express when she stumbled on Ron and Harry while looking for Neville's toad. Hermione remembered suddenly feeling self-conscious as she looked from the sad boy with glasses to the vibrant boy with ginger hair and a smudge of dirt on his nose. In her confusion she had done the only thing she could think to do. She had commandeered her bossy voice and told them to change into robes. She had been grateful when Neville, still unable to find Trevor, had led her back to Ron and Harry's compartment. Looking for something to say directly to Ron, she had then told him about his nose. She had expected him to be grateful to her that he would not look like a dirty little troll when they got to school but, instead, he had glared at her. Up until that point, Hermione had never felt so sad and alone in her life.

She sniffed quietly as she stared into the fire. She still hoped Ron would suddenly appear there but she knew, deep down, that he would not. Ron was, if nothing else, stubborn and not likely to admit he had been wrong.

_He's not the only one who's stubborn,_ whispered the voice and Hermione tried to tell it to be quiet but it continued. _And is he _really_ the one who's wrong?_

Hermione bit her lip and shook her head, the aforementioned stubbornness not allowing her to think that maybe, just maybe, she had made a huge mistake.

Ron stood on the pavement outside Carla's flat and blinked uncomfortably in the sun. He still had some Muggle money left but, for the life of him, he did not know where to go. He briefly thought about the Burrow but felt he did not want to see his family. He could go to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes but George would be at the Burrow with the rest of the family and he would have no way to get in. He shivered in the November air and decided waiting in the cold for his brother to come home was not really an option he was in favor of.

Smacking his lips, Ron decided he really needed to brush his teeth. He felt he could also use a shower, and suddenly it came to him: He could go to the Cannons' training facility. He worked out there a lot and had a locker in which he tried to keep some basic clothes and toiletries. The more he thought about it, the more perfect it seemed. He would not have to see his family and could sulk alone. He could also kip on one of the couches in the family waiting area.

_At least_, he thought as he looked for a hidden place where he could Disapparate, _I'll be on time for work tomorrow._

A big, beefy man walked by as he ducked into an alley, pictured the Cannons' training complex and turned on his heel. When the large building appeared before him, Ron quickly made his way inside. He could swear it was getting colder.

He headed for the locker room where he grabbed some things out of his locker and then made his way to the showers. With the hot water running over him, he began to feel human again for the first time since Harry's stunning spell had hit Hermione. Concentrating only on the task at hand, Ron finished his shower, dressed and brushed his teeth.

When he was clean and had put his things away, Ron went into the family waiting area where there was a small kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of butterbeer, he made his way to one of the overstuffed sofas and sank into it wearily. The last twenty-four hours had been among the worst he could recall and he felt absolutely drained of all energy.

Too tired to start a fire, Ron gazed into the empty fireplace across the room and took a drink of butterbeer. He tried to keep himself from thinking about Hermione and Harry but the more he tried not to, the more he found himself unable to think of anything else. He wondered what they were doing and if Hermione had made any more of what she termed progress. He hoped not because every time she did, she managed to get hurt. _But then,_ he realized, _if she gets hurt I can't be there to help her._

_Isn't that,_ asked Ron's own little voice, _why you left? Because you couldn't stand to watch her get hurt again? _

_Yes_, he answered. _That's exactly why I left._ He took another gulp of butterbeer and wished he had some Ogden's Old instead. Unfortunately, anything stronger than butterbeer was not allowed on the Cannons' premises.

Convinced he had done the only thing possible under the circumstances, Ron finished the butterbeer, muttered, "Cheers," in a half-hearted and depressed manner, and threw the empty bottle into the empty fireplace.


	12. Chapter 12 Separation

Chapter XII

Separation

For some weeks, Hermione did not see any part of Grimmauld Place other than the suite she still referred to as hers and Ron's. She Flooed everywhere she needed to go—mostly just to work and back—and sat in the sitting room trying to read, though she generally just stared at the fire.

She had also taken to sleeping on the sofa, wrapped up in Ron's quilt. She had tried to sleep in their bed, but after only about an hour, she realized her left foot was cold. As she was lying there thinking about summoning a pair of socks from the bureau, she realized it was not just her foot. Her entire left side was cold. Suddenly, it came to her that she slept on the right side of the bed, and Ron was always on her left. His absence had left her with a chill she could not shake. After another hour of internal debate, Hermione had gotten up and gone into the sitting room where she spent the rest of the night on the sofa.

After that, every time she looked at the bed she felt tears prick her eyes. The bed had suddenly become a large and imposing piece of furniture that seemed so very empty, and the void simply became insurmountable.

She did not know what to do about Ron. She had neither heard from him nor seen him since he left. The rational part of her brain had sent her to Flourish and Blotts where she had spent most of an afternoon looking through the very small section on witch and wizard relationships—which she had hoped no one would see her near. She had finally found a book she thought might be helpful, and made her way to pay for it, keeping her head down the entire time out of embarrassment. She did not want anyone to know she and Ron were having trouble.

The book, _Relationships Gone Bad: A Magical Guide to Fixing Your Partner's Shortcomings_, had turned out to be of no help whatsoever. She would _not_ make a love potion for Ron and then augment it with a memory charm. This was the book's solution to resolving _all_ troubled relationships between a witch and a wizard, and Hermione would not take Ron back under such conditions. When she had finished reading, Hermione had frowned at the book for a long moment before doing something she had never done before: she threw the book across the room and into the fireplace where the flames happily devoured it.

_What a load of rubbish_, she thought. Briefly, she wondered if she would find anything better in a Muggle bookshop, but the little voice in her head―the one that still popped up to remind her that these troubles did not only belong to Ron―told her that she would not be able to resolve this situation with the help of a book. This thought terrified her and left her in a state that had her snapping at people; the day before, her assistant at work had burst into tears and run from the office.

Hermione was sitting in her usual spot on the sofa with her legs tucked up under her and, again, staring morosely into the fire. In an effort to keep her thoughts away from Ron, she was thinking about a nice hot cup of tea, when she heard the sound of glass shattering.

Rolling her eyes, she wondered, _What is he up to now?_ There was another shattering sound, and Hermione decided she had better get up and check to see what was going on.

Hermione had not seen Harry since the day Ron left. As she got up and walked to the door, Hermione wondered how she would find him.

In the corridor, Hermione paused and wondered where the crashing sound had come from, when she suddenly heard it again. _Ah_, she thought. _I should have known._ She headed down the stairs and to the door of the drawing room, where she stopped just outside.

The door was partially open and Hermione who, contrary to Ron's belief, had learned a little something of caution while living with Harry, peered around it to look into the room.

Harry was standing in front of the tapestry of the Black Family tree on the far side of the room. Next to him, on an old and ugly table, stood three stacks of plates. As Hermione watched, Harry picked a plate up off one pile and held it out in front of him. Throwing his arm out sharply and flicking his wrist, he proceeded to fling the plate across the room where it hit the wall with a resounding crash.

Hermione shifted a bit and Harry must have caught the movement, because he suddenly looked toward the door. His face brightened a bit at the sight of her. "Hermione," he said. "Come in."

When she hesitated, Harry held a hand out to her. "Come on. You have to try this."

"Try what?" she asked skeptically, as she took a few steps into the room.

Growing impatient, Harry closed the distance between them and grabbed her wrist. "Come on," he said, pulling her across the room. "You'll see."

Harry pulled her to where he had been standing and picked a plate up off the table, which he then handed to Hermione. "Go on," he encouraged.

Turning the plate over in her hands, she recognized the blue and white pattern on its surface. "You want me to _throw_ this?"

"Yes," said Harry, seemingly pleased she had picked up on the idea so quickly. "Go ahead."

"Why would I want to throw a plate across the room, Harry?" Hermione asked. "And do you know what this plate must be worth?"

She could see he was getting annoyed with her. "Hermione, just throw the plate. Then you'll understand what I'm talking about."

Raising her eyebrows at Harry, Hermione carefully lobbed the plate across the room where it landed in the middle of the rug with a thunk and cracked into three pieces.

"No," said Harry. "No, no, no." He took another plate from the pile and added, "Watch me."

With the same curling motion of his arm and that deft flick of the wrist, Harry sent another plate into the wall opposite them. He gave a smile of satisfaction and turned to look at Hermione. "See?"

Hermione took another plate and, imitating Harry's motions, she threw it. The plate did not hit the wall as resoundingly as Harry's had, and it did not shatter into as many pieces, but Hermione had to admit that it made a satisfying crash as it broke and fell to the floor.

Taking another plate, Hermione sent it across the room and this time the impact was stronger. Strangely, she found a small smile breaking out across her face.

Harry must have seen it, as his smile brightened and he handed her another plate. "Shall we go together?" he asked.

She nodded and said, "On three." They counted off, and the two plates sailed through the air and crashed almost simultaneously.

"See?" Harry asked as they admired the broken shards of china on the floor.

"Sort of," responded Hermione. Turning to him, she asked, "But why do you do it?"

Harry shrugged. "It makes me feel better."

Hermione pondered that. She _had_ felt some sort of release when she had thrown the plates. Perhaps it was some of the tension she had stored up in the past few weeks.

"For example," Harry continued, and picked up a plate. "This one―" There was a hint of anger in his voice as he threw it. "―is for Sirius."

Intrigued, Hermione watched Harry. "And this one―" he threw another one and she saw a spark in his eyes. "―is for Dumbledore."

Harry held a strangely decorated red, pink, and black plate in his hands. As he sent it across the room, he said, "And that one is for Luna."

Hermione's smile slid off her face and she suddenly understood. She watched Harry's face as he stood looking over the plate he had broken for Luna. Looking at the plate in her hands, Hermione was overcome with emotion. It was more than two years since the war had ended, yet here was Harry, his grief for those lost still as fresh as if it had all occurred yesterday.

With a glance back up at Harry, she saw he was gazing down at her wordlessly. His face was filled with anger and sadness as they stared at each other. Finally, he asked, "Who's that one for?"

Without a thought, Hermione turned and flung the plate. As the shower of fragments fell to the floor, she said, "Mrs. Weasley."

Harry nodded and handed her another plate. She threw one for Ginny, then Neville, and Seamus.

In this manner, Harry and Hermione continued to break the plates stacked on the table until there were only two left. They both thought hard before they threw them. Finally, Harry said something Hermione was surprised she had not heard him say before. "My parents." From his tone of voice, she could tell he was fighting back tears.

Hermione's own eyes began to well up. She could feel Harry staring at her as he waited for her to finish their exercise. Biting her lip, she looked up into his watery green eyes. Then, with an overwhelming sense of rage, she threw her final plate harder than any of the others. For a moment she simply gazed at all the broken pieces of china on the floor. As she did, Harry spoke for her.

"Ron," he said quietly.

She closed her eyes, and tears began to slide down her cheeks as she put her hands up to her face and sank down to the floor. As she cried, she felt Harry sit down next to her and put his arms around her. Without any further thought, Hermione put her head on his shoulder and began to sob.

Ron was dragging as he headed in from the Quidditch pitch. The Cannons had just won a very close match against the Pride of Portree after almost ten hours of play, and he was beat. Part of his job as Wally Wervin's assistant was to attend each match. He kept a close eye on all the players and reported his observations to his boss. There had even been a few occasions when Ron's insight and observations had prompted Mr. Wervin to keep a player or let one go.

Because the players were in the locker rooms cleaning up, Ron went to his office where his intention was to sit at his desk pretending to work until almost everyone had gone home. Then, he would go to the family waiting room, ostensibly to check up on anyone who might still be left. When everyone was finally gone, Ron would shower and then crash on a sofa.

Ron had been, for all intents and purposes, living at work. He had developed a routine of staying late and telling Mr. Wervin that he 'just wanted to finish this' before he left for the evening. Then, when a reasonable amount of time had passed, indicating that his boss had not forgotten something he needed to return for—which had been the case on more than one occasion—Ron would close up the office and head to the training facility. There he would work out his aggressions regarding Harry and Hermione until he was too tired to do any more. After a shower he would grab a bite to eat from the little kitchenette in the family room and then go to sleep.

Ron always made sure he was up earlier than anyone was likely to arrive and he was at his desk before Mr. Wervin's arrival. The first time this had happened, Mr. Wervin stopped short just inside the door of the office. Ron had maintained a look of innocence while his boss looked at the clock and then back at Ron, surprise clearly evident on his face. Fortunately for Ron, his early arrival had become commonplace rather quickly and was not remarked upon.

Settling wearily into his chair, Ron put his elbows on the desk and rested his head in his hands. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a few moments of peaceful respite. Living the way he had been the past few weeks had been difficult and trying, and the effects showed in the fact that he had lost weight and had circles under his eyes. He was so tired, and he longed for his own bed with his wife next to him.

He had tried not to let himself think too much about the situation. There seemed to be little he could do short of going back to Grimmauld Place and groveling at the feet of both Hermione and Harry. In his mind he could see the look of smug satisfaction on Harry's face as his former best friend said, "Sorry, Ron. You had your chance and blew it. Hermione chose me and we don't want you here."

Ron almost groaned aloud. His heart ached for Hermione, but he was resolved not to go back to her with his tail between his legs. He was still convinced he was right, and he dreaded the thought of what other injuries she may have suffered in his absence.

Hearing footsteps, Ron tore his thoughts away from his fractured marriage and rubbed his eyes. He opened them and looked up just in time to see Mr. Wervin standing in the door of the office and looking at Ron soberly. Ron frowned. Whenever the Cannons won a match, Mr. Wervin was usually in a mood that could only be described as giddy.

There was a moment of quiet in the office as the two men stared at each other. Finally, Mr. Wervin said, "Weasley, I need to see you in my office."

_Uh-oh_, thought Ron. _I hope I'm not about to be sacked._ He got up and followed the older man into his office.

Mr. Wervin settled himself behind his desk and removed his customary cigar from his mouth. He placed it on an enormous orange ashtray, where it would keep from burning down until he was ready for it again. Folding his hands on his desk, Mr. Wervin said quietly, "Sit, Weasley."

Ron sat gingerly on a short leather-covered chair. The arms were too high for him to comfortably rest his elbows on, so he simply set his hands on his denim-clad thighs.

Clearing his throat, Mr. Wervin finally began. "Look, Weasley, I don't know what's going on." He put up a hand as he continued. "And, I don't want to know what's going on. But," his hand returned to the desktop, "it's apparent that something's happened between you and your wife."

Ron sat mutely in his chair. He wiped one sweaty palm on his jeans.

"I had hoped that things would clear themselves up in short order and I wouldn't have to be having this conversation," said Mr. Wervin. "Since they don't seem to have, however, I have to say, well…" Mr. Wervin trailed off as though trying to think of a better way to convey what he wanted to say.

"I know you've been living in the compound, Weasley," Mr. Wervin said. "And while the job has perks and it's customary for the people who work here to take advantage of the facilities, I just can't have you _living_ here."

Ron nodded. He was not surprised this had finally come up. As circumspect as he had tried to be, someone was bound to have noticed. "I'm sorry, Sir," he muttered, feeling somewhat ashamed.

"Don't you have any family you can go to, Weasley?" asked Mr. Wervin.

"Yeah," Ron said. "I just don't want to have to tell them. Unlike you, they don't stop asking questions until they have every answer and have dissected the problem from every point of view. Then they tell you what to do to fix it."

To Ron's surprise, Mr. Wervin smiled warmly. "That, Weasley," he said, suddenly looking like the grandfather Ron knew he was outside of work, "is _exactly_ what families are for."

"I'll gather up my things," said Ron. "Is there anything else?"

In an instant Mr. Wervin returned to boss-mode. "You bet there is," he said firmly. "I'll expect an in-depth analysis of today's match on my desk first thing Monday morning!"

"Yes, sir," replied Ron as he got up from the chair. "First thing." Smiling faintly as he left the office, Ron realized how grateful he had become for the stability of his job.

Now, he could only hope for the same kind of stability from his family.

Ron sat on the back stoop of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes and sighed. As he had thrown his few things into the small duffle he kept in his Cannons' locker, Ron had realized he still did not feel quite right going back to the Burrow. After a brief inner struggle, he had finally decided that he had two choices: swallow what little pride he had left and go home to his father, all the marrieds and their children, or go to George. Since there were fewer people to deal with in Diagon Alley, George won out.

The trouble was, George was not aware of his good fortune. Apparently, the single twin was out on a date and Ron was left to sit on the cold stoop and shift from cheek to cheek to keep his back end from freezing.

A quick look at his watch told Ron he had been sitting there for close to three hours now. He was wishing he had given in after the first hour and gone to the Leaky Cauldron. At the very least, he could have warmed himself with some Ogden's Old.

And here, Ron had been afraid his late arrival would wake George.

Sighing again, Ron rubbed his hands together, grateful he could still feel his fingers. A cold snap in December was never a good thing, in Ron's mind. It always made the winter seem so much longer.

He was blowing on his fingers when he heard voices and suddenly stopped. Looking up, Ron saw a glint of copper hair in the moonlight as George came around the corner of the building with his arm around an attractive woman with ginger hair.

Ron smirked and thought, _Huh. Maybe he'll be the one of us who actually marries another redhead._

As Ron quietly watched, George bent his head to the petite woman and whispered something in her ear. She giggled, blushed, and then looked up at George with a sly grin on her face. "You'll just have to prove that to me," she said silkily. George grinned and pulled out his wand as the pair of them approached the door in front of which Ron sat. Neither of them had noticed him.

Pointing his wand at the door while still looking at the girl in his arms, George muttered the countercharms he and Fred kept on the doors of the shop and the living quarters above it. Ron knew that since he had a girl with him who was hearing those countercharms, he and Fred would change the spells the next morning. When it came to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, there was no such thing as being overly cautious.

The door clicked open and, after plastering an almost obscene kiss on the witch, George asked her, "Why don't we go in?"

"Thanks," said Ron, standing and gathering up his duffle. "It's bloody freezing out here." He took a quick glance to register the expressions on the faces on his brother and the witch, then turned around and walked into the building.

Once inside, Ron pulled out his own wand and said, "_Lumos_." The tip of the wand lit up, and Ron hurried up the stairs that led to the living quarters above the shop.

Ron was lighting the fire when George stormed in, minus the little redhead. "Well, thanks a lot, little brother," he railed. "I was just about to get very lucky. Do you have any idea how long it took me to get a date with Gwendolyn, there?"

Looking over his shoulder, Ron simply replied, "I left Hermione."

George opened his mouth to retort but stopped as Ron's words registered. "What?" he asked in astonishment.

"I left Hermione. I need a place to stay and I'm not up to facing the family yet," answered Ron, stepping back from the freshly lit fire.

George sat down heavily at the kitchen table and stared at Ron. "What happened?"

Shrugging out of his cloak, Ron pulled a chair out from the table and sat across from his brother. He then proceeded to tell George everything that had happened, from Harry leaving him hanging in the air in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, to Hermione being stunned and how he could not take anymore.

Hermione's cousin Brenna always held a tea about a week before Christmas. It was her way of getting the family gathered together for a holiday event since, for the most part, the individual members spent Christmas in small groups at their own homes.

The tea was held in the late afternoon and was served buffet-style, so everyone could eat and mingle at the same time. For some, it was one of only a few times they got to see each other and, for most, it was the only time they got to see Hermione. She tried to make it back to the Muggle world and her family on a regular basis, but Hermione was so entrenched in her life in the Wizarding world, that the visits were not as frequent as she would have liked.

Brenna's flat had, as usual, been carefully decorated for the event and she had outdone herself in regards to the food. Hermione had asked if she could bring anything and was told only herself and her husband. _Well_, she thought, holding a plate full of cucumber sandwiches and a slice of orange loaf, _one out of two isn't bad. _Hermione had told everyone who asked—and that _was_ everyone—that Ron had, unfortunately, been called in to work and he was very sorry he could not be there.

The tea had been a rousing success and, as various aunts and uncles and cousins took their leave, Hermione felt herself relax. She enjoyed seeing her relatives, but she always had to put on such an act in order to conceal her real life, that she always left feeling drained. Add to that what was going on between her and Ron, and she was amazed she was still standing.

When everyone else had gone, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and began gathering up dishes and taking them into the kitchen. Another tradition with these Christmas teas, was that Hermione always stayed late and helped clean up. This allowed her and Brenna to have some time to bond. Gilbert happily took off to the local pub for a pint and left the girls to their conversation.

"So," said Brenna, combining two plates of leftover sandwiches into one and covering it with plastic. "What was the real reason for Ron's absence?"

Hermione was washing a cup. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked innocently.

"Uh-huh," Brenna replied. "You may be able to fool the old folks, but you can't fool me. I know there's something going on. I can tell just by looking at you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked edgily.

"It means, you've lost weight, you look like you haven't slept in a month, and this is your first Christmas married to the man you've loved since you were a child, and he's not here." Brenna gave Hermione a piercing look that said she was not going to be able to talk her way out of this.

The two women were silent for a few moments as they put away food and continued to wash dishes. Brenna's silence was a determined one that said she was not going to back down and, from past encounters with her older cousin, Hermione knew she would not. Hermione had often lost a battle of wills to Brenna and this appeared to be another such occasion.

Finally, Hermione sighed. "Fine," she said, "but you can't tell my parents."

Brenna paused in drying a plate and turned to look at Hermione with concern in her eyes. "It can't be _that_ bad."

Hermione felt the now-familiar tears starting to well in her eyes. "It is," she said quietly. "Please don't tell them."

Setting the plate she was holding on the counter, Brenna guided Hermione over to a chair and then sat down opposite her. "Tell me," she said. "Tell me what happened."

Barely able to get it out, Hermione squeaked, "Ron left me."

The expression of shock and disbelief on Brenna's face was the final straw, and Hermione buried her face in her hands and wept. Brenna was the first person Hermione had told, and the act of doing so had made everything real in a way it had not quite been before.

When she had calmed down enough to speak, Hermione told Brenna everything. Occasionally, she would peek at her cousin's face and try to read the expressions but, for the most part, Hermione just looked at her hands that she found herself continuously wringing.

As she finished her story, Hermione looked up.

Brenna was sitting quietly in her chair and looking at her cousin in disbelief. "You let him _go_?"

"What?"

"You just let him walk out like that?"

"What do you mean, I let him go? He left. He chose to leave, and he didn't even look back. Not _once_!" Hermione was starting to get angry. Why on Earth would Brenna have expected Hermione to go after Ron? He had been so unreasonable!

"Hermione," said Brenna, "can't you see what happened, or have you been so caught up in trying to fix Harry, that you forgot about your husband and his feelings?"

"Ron wasn't patient enough," retorted Hermione. "Harry would have been well on his way to returning to being a functional person again if Ron had just been more patient. He only saw the bad things."

"And you only saw the good," Brenna said, wryly.

"I saw the _progress_," Hermione snapped, "Ron wasn't capable of seeing it. I don't think he ever was."

At this cutting remark, Brenna gasped. "That's not true, Hermione Jane, and you know it. According to Ron, the sun rose and set with you. You just tossed him aside for a friend who, it seems to me, didn't want either of you around."

"Harry's just fine now that Ron's gone!"

"Is he?" Brenna asked. "Is he really? Then I wonder why he wanted Ron gone so badly that he would hurt you to get rid of him. "

Hermione blinked at her cousin. "What?"

"You heard me, Hermione. It sounds to me like a lot of things are going on here. You've been so focused on Harry that you've completely lost sight of your marriage and, from what you just said, Harry wanted to get rid of Ron to the point that he would use any means to do so."

Shaking her head, Hermione said, "You're mad, Brenna. You don't see at all."

"I think I see things a lot more clearly than you do," said Brenna standing up. "Now, I'd like you to leave."

"_What?_" Hermione also stood and gazed at Brenna in shock. Was her cousin really ordering her out of her house?

"You heard me. I can't believe how daft you are. You once told me they called you the brightest witch of your age. I don't think they knew what they were talking about."

"How dare you," snarled Hermione. "How _dare_ you!"

"Because I want what's best for you," replied Brenna softly. "Now, leave and don't come back until you've figured some things out. Until you've _returned_ to being the brightest witch of your age."

Hermione set her jaw. "You're wrong," she said darkly. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

A few years earlier, Hermione had registered Brenna with the Ministry as a Muggle relative who knew her cousin was a witch. This meant that small amounts of magic could be used in her presence and Hermione, or Ron, would not get into trouble for it. Knowing that abrupt uses of magic sometimes discomfited Brenna, Hermione glared at her cousin and turned curtly on her heel, Disapparating with a loud crack. Hermione's thought as the uncomfortable feeling of Apparition washed over her was, _I hope that frightened her well and good._

The door slammed shut with a resounding thud, and Hermione stomped her way through the kitchen and up the stairs to the ground floor. The little voice in her head had resurfaced and was berating Hermione as she continued up another flight of stairs. _She's right, you know,_ it said. _Harry was trying to get rid of Ron. Why?_

Hermione told the voice that couldn't possibly be true, but it persisted. _She's also right that you just let him go. You could have stopped him. You could have gone after him_.

"Stop it," Hermione muttered, putting her hands over her ears as her steps slowed unwillingly. "It was his choice," she insisted, petulantly.

_But why did he make that choice?_ asked the voice. _There was a reason behind it._

Hermione was chanting, "Stop it, stop it, _stop it_!" She reached the door to the suite and gave it a violent kick, grimacing as her big toe complained about the sudden abuse.

"Be careful," said a voice from above, "if you left a mark, I'm going to make you repaint it."

Hermione turned sharply and saw Harry sitting quietly on the landing above her. "Harry," she said in a slightly higher-pitched voice than usual. "I didn't see you there."

"Clearly," replied Harry.

"Yes, well, I was, uh…" Hermione trailed off, unsure of what to say as Harry continued to stare down at her.

"Abusing my property?" Harry finished for her.

"Not intentionally," she answered, her cheeks turning pink. "What are you doing there?"

"Waiting for you." Harry nodded to her. "Come up and sit with me."

Hermione took her cloak off and laid it over the banister. Walking up the stairs, she sat down on the landing next to Harry.

He looked at her critically before saying, "Merlin, Hermione. You look awful."

Hermione pursed her lips and answered, "Thank you, Harry. You're the second person to tell me that today."

"Well, it's true," said Harry, and the two of them fell into silence for a few minutes.

"Do you really think you've helped me?" Harry finally asked.

Hermione looked at him in surprise. This was the last thing she expected to hear from him. "Well, yes," she replied. "Yes, I do."

"I'm curious, Hermione. Just what was your goal in helping me?"

"I wanted you to be whole again, Harry. To respond to other people and life itself."

Harry gave Hermione a sideways look. "And you think you can make me whole again?" There was disbelief in his voice.

Hermione thought for a moment. "Well," she started, "not necessarily me alone. I mean you have to get back out into the world again before that can happen…" Hermione trailed off as Harry's expression turned into a glare.

"That's very presumptuous of you, Hermione. To think you can make anyone who has lost something, no matter what it is, whole again." Harry paused as the comment sunk in and then asked, "Do you think I've responded to other people?"

The first impulse Hermione had was to respond immediately, but she had realized after his last comment that she had no idea where Harry was going with this conversation and she had better be careful. But, as she thought about it, she realized that Harry _had_ responded to her and Ron. Perhaps not in ways she would have liked, but he had still responded.

Confidently, Hermione replied, "Yes. You've responded to me and Ron."

Harry smiled. "I agree with that," he said. "But, I don't think the responses you got were quite what you were looking for."

"Well, I have to admit, finding Ron hanging in the kitchen was unexpected."

Sobering, Harry asked, "And life itself?"

Hermione did not even need to think about this one. "No," she said, shaking her head. "You would have to leave this house to respond to life."

"Exactly." Harry nodded. "And that isn't going to happen, Hermione."

"Harry—" Hermione started but he held up a hand and cut her off.

"No. I'm not leaving here. Ever," he said emphatically.

"But Harry," Hermione tried again. "Living here like this isn't, well, it isn't really _living_."

"It's good enough for me," said Harry. "And I don't want to hear another word about it."

Hermione sighed. She remembered having such high hopes that she and Ron could help Harry. Everything had seemed so positive when she had first had the idea and then, later, when Ron had finally agreed to it. Hermione sat quietly, trying to think when it had all gone wrong.

"How's Ron?" Harry asked suddenly.

Hermione looked down at her hands and spoke softly as she answered, "I don't know."

"You don't know? You haven't even heard from him?" Harry's voice was incredulous as he looked at her sharply.

"No," whispered Hermione.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry's expression change and he said, "You haven't contacted him, either, have you?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Why not?" Harry demanded. "It's not like there isn't an owl in the house. In fact," he continued, "Ron left that little featherball that passes for an owl here, so there are two of them."

Looking up, Hermione asked, "Ron left Pig?"

Harry blinked. "Yeah. He's been nesting on Buckbeak's head."

"Oh."

They were quiet again. Hermione was wondering why she had not heard from Ron. Now that she thought about it, she felt it was odd that he had not at least sent for some of his things, such as his owl.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you let Ron just leave?"

"What?" Hermione practically screeched.

Harry ignored her tone. "Ron walked out and you didn't follow him. You didn't even move."

Hermione was incredulous. It was like the conversation with Brenna all over again. And this from _Harry_, of all people.

Shifting on the landing to get a better look at her, Harry said, "Hermione, I do a lot of thinking. Honestly, if someone was hurting Ron, would you just stand by and watch? You would defend him, right?"

"Well, yes," replied Hermione as she glared at Harry.

"And, if Ron was letting someone hurt him, how long do you think you could just stand around and watch it?"

"Not very long, I suppose."

"Exactly." Harry's expression was slightly smug.

"But Harry," said Hermione, "it was you. Not just some random somebody."

"And that," said Harry softly, "makes it that much worse. Hermione, listen to me. Ron left here for the same reason I left, well, everything."

Harry looked at her intently. She sensed he wanted to say more so she kept quiet as he took a few deep breaths.

"You know why I broke up with Ginny," he started. "I wanted her to be safe. As a Weasley, she was already a target. As Harry Potter's girlfriend, I didn't think she would stand a chance. Voldemort would have Death Eaters all over the place looking specifically for her."

Hermione nodded as Harry continued. He was gazing out over the stairs with an expression on his face that gave the impression he was seeing the past laid out in front of him.

"When Hogwarts reopened, she went back. So did Neville and, well, it's no surprise the two of them took up with each other. No one was allowed out of their common rooms except for meals and classes, so there wasn't much interaction between the houses. I had rather thought Neville and Luna might get together."

Harry looked at Hermione with a slight grin on his face. "As you know, hunting Horcruxes was very tiring work." Sobering, he continued, "What you don't know, is that it was also very lonely. For me. You and Ron had each other. I tried to make myself scarce as often as possible because I knew the two of you needed each other. But, it meant I spent a lot of time alone."

Hermione felt her cheeks turn pink. She and Ron had needed each other then. She had thought they were being discreet, but apparently they weren't. She had never realized, though, how much time Harry must have spent alone while she and Ron were taking comfort in each other.

She reached out and rested a hand on Harry's arm as he went on.

"Even though we'd broken up, I still thought about Ginny; all the time. Until Ron got that letter," Harry added bitterly.

While the three of them had been searching for Horcruxes, they had occasionally received a letter from one of the Weasleys or Lupin. There were some owls, like Hedwig, who could find anyone anywhere. Unlike Hedwig, not all of them were showy but were more able to travel unnoticed.

Hermione remembered a letter that had reached them just after Christmas that year. It was from Ginny, but it had been for Hermione. Ron, however, had gotten hold of it. Since he usually read all of his family's letters aloud, it had never occurred to Ron that this one would be any different.

Caught up in the reading of the letter, the actual content had not dawned on Ron until after he had read it. Hermione had seen Harry's face as Ginny wrote how she and Neville had become closer and how she had been very surprised to realize that she actually held a great deal of affection for him. She had even wondered to Hermione whether or not this was something that could be longer lasting and more secure than loving Harry had turned out to be.

His teeth gritted, Harry had muttered that he was tired and was going to bed. As soon as he was out of the room, Hermione had laid into Ron about being an inconsiderate git. Ron, impressed Hermione had actually called him a git, had simply kissed her quiet.

"Right after that," said Harry, drawing Hermione's attention back to the present, "we wound up in that wretched house on the coast that was falling down."

Hermione smiled. The house had truly been on the verge of collapse and more than once, Ron had commented that it had to have been held together with magic.

"I'm still convinced that woman, Mrs. McTweedy, was a Squib," Harry said. "I don't know how else she could manage to attract so many magic people to her house if she was just a Muggle. Anyway, you and Ron went off on your own again that night, and I ran into Luna in the lounge. She and her father had been traveling along the coast looking for some non-existent creature or other during the holiday. Mr. Lovegood had retired for the evening, but Luna wasn't tired. She seemed genuinely glad to see me, and we talked for quite a while. I think it was sometime past midnight when I walked her to her room."

"We spent a couple of days there. Every time you and Ron disappeared, I wound up spending time with Luna. She spoke a lot of nonsense, but there was something about how calm she was. How matter-of-fact she was, it just…soothed me."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both reflecting on that horrible year of traveling and hunting horcruxes while trying to stay alive. Hermione found herself thinking of Ron and how close they had grown that year. She was sure Harry was thinking the same about Luna.

Truthfully, Hermione and Ron had eventually figured out that Harry was seeing someone. After Christmas they had gone, at Harry's urging, to Hogsmeade a couple of times. Harry would disappear for a few hours here and there and, after he had returned safely the first few times, Hermione stopped feeling frantic over not knowing where he was. She had realized that she could not control all of Harry's actions. It was at this point, however, that she learned he was meeting someone.

While in Hogsmeade, the three of them would stay in the Shrieking Shack. Because there were very few people who knew that the building was not really haunted and what its original purpose was, they felt safe in staying there. One night, Hermione woke suddenly when she heard a loud creaking noise. Holding her wand in front of her and ignoring Ron's snores, Hermione had crawled to the doorway of the room she and Ron were sleeping in. She remembered peering out the door and seeing Harry kneeling down beside the trap door that led to the passageway to the Whomping Willow. A blonde head had appeared and Hermione had ducked back out of sight.

Hermione had tried to go back to sleep, but the murmuring voices in the next room had kept her awake. Not that she had been able to hear any of the conversation, but she was wondering what, if anything, to tell Ron. He was still holding out hope that Harry would get back together with Ginny after the war was won, for Ron had never doubted it would be.

It turned out Hermione need not have worried. Over the course of the next few months, Ron had received, and kept to himself and Hermione, two more letters from Ginny in which she went on and on about Neville. Over the Easter holiday, Harry had moved the three of them to another ramshackle pub, this one owned and operated by a wizard. While there, Hermione had observed Luna's arrival with her father, and it was later that night when Ron finally saw Luna and Harry kissing in what the couple had thought was a secluded corner. Hermione had been fearful of Ron's reaction and, indeed, he had stood there with his mouth open but no sound coming out of it. She watched him carefully, waiting for any sign there might be trouble. Finally, Ron closed his mouth and turned to her.

"Come on," he said, taking her arm, "let's go find our own dark corner."

Finally, Harry spoke again. "I always thought Ron would kill me for Voldemort if he ever found out. He was so attached to the idea of me and Ginny."

Offering a consoling gesture, Hermione touched Harry's arm. "Ron knew," she said softly. "We both did."

Harry turned and gave Hermione an incredulous look. "Ron _knew_?" he asked. "He knew and never said anything? Never tried to hurt me?"

Hermione nodded. "He was still getting letters from Ginny. She was happy, and he could see that you were happy with Luna. We all grew up that year, Harry. And that was one of the ways Ron grew up."

Harry sat quietly for a moment before saying, "Ron continues to surprise me."

"How so?" asked Hermione.

Giving her a studious look, Harry replied, "He keeps proving much stronger than I give him credit for."

"He's had a lot of losses," said Hermione softly.

"Yes, he has." Harry gave Hermione a shrewd look.

Thinking back to her conversation with Brenna, Hermione asked, "Harry, why did you want Ron out of here so badly? You said you didn't mean to stun me that day, but that you meant to stun Ron."

Harry smiled. "I actually wanted both of you out of here. I agreed to let you come live with me because of something Winky said, but I later felt it was a terrible mistake. It was too late, though, to tell you I had changed my mind, so I thought I would just try to scare you away. But then," Harry's voice faded a bit as he looked away from Hermione. "Then I got so jealous."

"Jealous?" This was not an answer Hermione had expected.

Nodding, Harry said, "Jealous of what you and Ron had." He looked back at Hermione. "Jealous that you had each other. The two of you were so happy and in love, and it just ripped at my heart."

"Because of Luna?" Hermione asked.

"Luna and Ginny," answered Harry. "Luna was the love I found when I least expected it, and she died. Ginny was my first true love, and she might as well have."

When Hermione did not answer, Harry continued. "I was with Luna when she died. Mr. Lovegood wouldn't let me leave. I wanted to. I wanted him to spend the last few hours of his daughter's life with her in peace, but he insisted I stay. 'She loves you, too, Harry,' he said. 'She needs you with her now as much as she needs me.'"

Hermione took a deep breath. She could not even begin to imagine what that must have been like for Harry.

"So I stayed. I sat on one side of her bed and Mr. Lovegood on the other, and we each held a hand. She opened her eyes just before the end came and looked at her father. She told him how much she loved him, but that her mother was waiting for her. She also said that she would be with him always. Then she looked at me."

Harry's voice was starting to choke up a bit, and Hermione kept quiet. She did not want to do or say anything that would make Harry stop telling his story. It was something she was sure he had never told anyone before, and he seemed to need to get it out.

"She thanked me," Harry said quietly. "She thanked me for making her feel so special the last few months of her life. She then told me that she loved me and always would, but that I should not let her death keep me from loving anyone else. That she had always known what we had would be short-lived, because she knew she wasn't meant to be in the physical world for as long as other people, and she apologized for not telling me that before."

Harry paused briefly. "She _apologized_ to me for _dying_."

Hermione sniffed as Harry continued. "And then she closed those beautiful, luminescent eyes, and died."

"Harry, I'm so sorry," said Hermione, wishing she could somehow take away his pain.

But Harry went on as though he had not heard her. "We sat with her for about an hour or so and when we left her, Mr. Lovegood shook my hand and thanked me for being so good to Luna. I couldn't speak, and that was the last I saw of him."

Harry shook himself as though trying to escape the memory. "That's when I went looking for you and Ron. As I was searching, I heard a trainee healer commenting on how the Weasley girl was being moved to the Closed Ward because she had lost her mind. I ignored it at first because I thought it was the kind of thing the girl might be saying to make herself seem important. I was sure she was exaggerating. Shortly after that, I was walking down a corridor when I heard Ron's voice. I stopped and listened as he told you and the rest of the Weasleys how he had killed Percy and why. Then I knew that trainee healer had been right. And that was when I decided my existence had caused too many people pain, and I wasn't going to let it continue because I couldn't stand to see them hurting."

Harry then turned again to Hermione and, giving her a pointed look, said, "I hope you understand now why I won't ever leave this house. I've created too much pain for others and you're all really much better off without me. In fact," he added, "I've created pain for two people I love from _inside_ this house."

"Harry, Ron and I love you, too. That's why we want to help you," said Hermione fervently.

Harry gave Hermione another shrewd look and said, "I don't think you should be speaking for Ron, just now."

Hermione drew back in hurt while Harry continued, "Don't you see, Hermione. I can't have the happiness you and Ron did, and I wanted to hurt Ron for it. That's why I left Ron hanging in the kitchen. That's why, when I heard you, I broke things and made loud noises, why I said those things I did. It wasn't so much to hurt _you,_ but to hurt _Ron_. The day in the corridor, I watched the two of you painting for a while. I didn't mind the painting as much as I did the aggrieved look on Ron's face when you came over and told him he wasn't doing a good job. It was so obvious that he was only doing it to please you, anyway. That's why I tried to stun him. I got you because I was so angry that I moved too forcefully when I raised my wand and lost my aim."

Another silence descended as Hermione thought about how she had misread the situation. Harry had not only been stuck in the past, but her and Ron's presence had caused him to think about the last days of the war in a more sorrowful way than he already had been _before_ they arrived. Their presence at Grimmauld Place had caused Harry pain. Her intention had been to brighten his days and make him see what he was missing by locking himself away; to make him realize he could live again, not to upset him and make him angrier.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Hermione. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I only wanted to try and help you."

"I know," replied Harry. "And I'm sorry that it hasn't turned out as you had hoped. You always think you can make the world a better place, and that's a wonderful quality to have. But I'm afraid it just can't work with me."

With tears in her eyes, Hermione asked, "Are you sure? Really, Harry, are you? Because it makes me so sad to see you like this."

Harry reached out a hand and placed it on the side of Hermione's face. Wiping away a tear with his thumb, he answered, "I'm sure. And it makes _me_ sad to see _you_ like this."

They sat like this for a moment and stared into each other's eyes before Harry removed his hand and drew back. "Now," he asked, "what about Ron."

Sniffing, Hermione asked, "What about Ron?"

"What are you going to do to get him back?"

Hermione swallowed and took a deep breath. "I don't know that I can do anything. I think it's too late. He's been gone too long."

"It's never too late, Hermione," chastised Harry.

She gave him a pointed look, and he amended his last comment. "Not for you and Ron, anyway."

Still unable to get over the fact that Ron had just walked out, Hermione said, "But he left, Harry. Clearly he doesn't want to be with me."

Sighing exasperatedly, Harry said, "Hermione, you are just as guilty here. Ron had a good reason for going. Can't you see that? And you did just let him go. You didn't follow him; you didn't even call out to him. You just let him go."

Hermione's head was beginning to throb, and she rubbed her temples and did not answer. Despite everything, she still did not think she had done anything wrong by not calling out to Ron, by not stopping him from leaving. Harry and Brenna both seemed to think she had made a mistake.

"Hermione, do you realize what you did? When you let Ron just leave like that?"

Giving Harry a sideways glance, she asked, "What?"

Softly, Harry said, "By that action, you told Ron that you would rather be with the friend who hurts you, than the man who loves you."

Hermione froze. Unbidden, words that she had spoken months before, came back to her. _You always come first with me, Ron. You do know that, don't you?_

_Oh, Merlin_, she thought. _Harry and Brenna are right.. I promised Ron that and many other things, but in wanting so badly to help Harry, I lost sight of those promises._ More than anything else, she knew it was that specific broken promise, spoken while she and Ron had first argued about the possibility of living with Harry that would have hurt Ron the most.

She buried her face in her hands. "What have I done?" she asked aloud. "What have I _done_?"

Harry patted her on the back. "Nothing you can't undo, Hermione. If you try hard enough."

Shaking her head, Hermione said, "I don't think I can fix this, Harry."

"Yes, you can," he reassured her. "Here. I have something for you."

She looked up and saw Harry reaching for something behind him. She gasped when he handed her the wedding photo, frame intact, that she had thrown across the room all those weeks ago.

Holding it in her hands and looking again at how happy she and Ron had been that day, she whispered, "I wondered where this had gone."

"I took it," Harry confessed sheepishly, and she looked up at him, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been in your suite, but I was worried about you. This was on the floor and the frame in pieces. After I covered you with that ugly blanket, I fixed it and took it with me. Looking at it," he added, "and how happy you were, and should be, helped me to be able to talk to you tonight. Maybe if you look at it long enough, it will help you find your own solution."

Hermione's gaze returned to the photo and she ached as she watched the Ron in the frame kiss the Hermione next to him. As she stared at the images, she resolved to do whatever it took to win Ron back. And this time, she would keep her promises.

Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes was crammed full of people as the Christmas holiday approached. Fred and George were out on the floor answering customers' questions and talking up the products. Lee Jordan was rushing back and forth between the sales floor and the back stockroom to get items that had sold down on the floor that customers were asking for, while Ron and Verity, Fred and George's assistant, worked the tills.

George had listened quietly and in shock that first night Ron had appeared and had readily agreed to allow his little brother to stay with him in the flat for as long as necessary. Ron was grateful for both a place to stay and the fact that George kept his thoughts on the situation to himself. It was not that Ron did not value his brother's opinion, it was just that he beat himself up over everything as it was, and did not need anyone else to help him along with that.

The only condition to Ron staying at ninety-three Diagon Alley was that he help out with the Christmas rush. Ron was grateful for this activity, as most of his free time was being spent in the shop and he had very little time to think while he worked. In the few spare moments he had that were not spent sleeping, Ron wondered how Hermione and Harry were getting along. He had even thought about whether or not to get Hermione a gift. Damned if he was getting Harry one, though.

"That's three Galleons, two Sickles, and a knut," he said to a pretty, dark-haired witch in front of him. He waited patiently while she dug around in a small bag, looking for the money.

She pulled out a Galleon and a knut and looked up at Ron. "I know it's here somewhere," she said smiling prettily and blinking her violet eyes a few times in rapid succession.

Ron just continued to wait. This witch, Valerie, had been in several times and she always waited in Ron's line. When she was at the counter, she made it a point to take her time and make eye contact as frequently as possible. Initially, her flirting with Ron had been rather cute and made him forget, for a few minutes, that he was an unhappily married man. After the fourth time, though, he had grown tired of it. He _was_ married and he loved his wife and was not interested in taking up with anyone else, even though he and Hermione were separated.

The two Sickles found their way to the counter and Ron, who had not done this before with Valerie, rested his left hand beside them while Valerie dug back into her bag for the remaining Galleons. He knew when she had seen his wedding band, by the way her hand that was rummaging in her bag, stilled.

There was an awkward pause. Valerie looked up at Ron and he allowed his gaze to meet hers. After a moment, she smiled brightly and, very quickly, came up with the two Galleons and handed them over. Ron took them, put the money in the till, and smiled politely as he handed her the bag filled with product.

"Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes thanks you and hopes you enjoy your items," he intoned.

"Thank you," murmured the little witch as she hurried out of the store.

Ron looked up and George caught his eye. The single twin was smirking at him while helping a teenage wizard buy a Christmas gift for his best mate.

Hermione sat numbly at her desk at work. Since her conversation with Harry she had been agonizing over ways to contact Ron and apologize. In her head this was always followed by her begging for a short amount of time after which, Ron smiled happily and kissed her and things were back to normal.

The voice in her head reminded her that this scene was not all that plausible, but she batted it away in irritation. _I know that_, she told the voice. _Just let me have a few moments of fantasy while I try to work this out._

It was the last day of work before Christmas and outside her office, Hermione could hear the rest of the department celebrating merrily. She sighed. She did not feel like celebrating. She wished Christmas was over, as she knew it was going to be exceedingly lonely without Ron. Harry had become reasonably good company, but it was not the same.

Holding her quill so the feather end of it was against her temple, Hermione twirled it softly, distractedly enjoying the sensation of the soft feather on her face. She wondered what Ron would be doing for the holiday. For that matter, she wondered what the rest of the Weasleys would be doing. No one had contacted her, so she knew they were aware of the situation between her and Ron. She did think it odd, however, that she had not even received an Owl from Angelina. She had thought they had gotten to be friends and the silence disturbed her.

Someone in the next room began a rousing chorus of _Deck the Halls_ and Hermione threw her quill down on the desk. There was no way she was going to be able come up with a solution to her problem, let alone actually do any work, with all the noise going on. She figured she ought to at least put in an appearance and, getting up and straightening her robes, Hermione made her way to the party.

Everyone was clearly having a very good time and no one noticed her arrival. People had clustered around the room in groups and were eating and talking while Everett Wishhart stood on a table singing loudly. He was being egged on by some of the younger, and pretty, girls who worked in the office, and he seemed to be vamping up his performance just for them.

Hermione went over to the food table and, picking up a plate, she eyed the selection. The sandwiches looked good, as did the pastries further down the table. At the end of the table was a large bowl of punch that refilled itself as it was emptied by the revelers. She looked at the punch suspiciously and then back at Everett, who had now launched into a rendition of _God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs_. She had never considered Everett a drinker, but she had also never suspected he would be likely to sing that loudly and happily from the top of a table. Shaking her head, Hermione thought, _Sometimes people just surprise you_. She decided to skip the punch.

Settling on an empty settee that had been conjured for the occasion, Hermione began eating her sandwich. There was an odd taste to it that she couldn't place, but after a couple of bites she decided it gave the sandwich a little kick.

Halfway through her sandwich, a co-worker timidly approached and asked if he could join her on the settee. "There isn't anything else available," he said. Hermione nodded, and the man sat down. After a few moments of small talk they found themselves embroiled in a discussion on some new legislation that the Ministry wanted to pass regarding Centaurs, and the party droned on about them.

Ron stood unhappily on the porch of the Burrow. Christmas had come and, against his will, he had gone to the Burrow for the celebration. No one said anything to Ron about his marital situation, but he knew from the covert glances and whispered conversations that stopped the minute he walked into a room—especially between Fleur and Angelina—that they were all aware of it. It rather pained him that not once did he hear Hermione's name. She had been part of the family for so long that it did not seem right to not even hear her mentioned during the course of the holiday celebration.

A few minutes later, he heard the creaking of the old window to the living room. There was quite a lot of activity in the living room, and it had warmed up considerably. After a moment, Ron heard the twins talking as they apparently stood by the open window.

"He looks terrible."

"All worn out."

"He did the right thing, don't you think?"

"Yeah. But it's a shame it had to happen."

"They never should have moved to Grimmauld Place. I knew it was a disaster in waiting."

"Git, Harry."

"Well, Hermione was wrong, you know. Clearly she put Harry before Ron. She's married to Ron, not Harry." Ron reckoned the single George would not make a comment like this and guessed it must have been made by Fred.

"Course she was wrong! All those years together and just tossed away. Makes me glad I haven't shackled myself to some woman."

Fred laughed. "Just you wait. Your time is coming."

Snorting, George asked, "You think so, do you?"

"How's Gwendolyn?"

George took the bait. "Oh, she's fantastic. She was so understanding that night Ron showed up on my doorstep. Said family should always be put first and she admired that I was willing to end our date early to find out what was going on with my brother."

On the porch, Ron smirked. End the date early, indeed. Ron recalled it was almost half past three in the morning by the time George and the little redhead had showed up.

Ron heard Fred chuckle. There was a soft thump and then, "Ow! You didn't need to do that."

"Sure did, brother of mine. You asked me a leading question, there."

"It was for your own good. You know you like her."

"Yeah, I like her," George sighed.

They were silent for a moment. "Think they'll get back together?" Fred asked quietly.

"I hope so," said George, sounding serious. "They belong together. I've never seen anything more ordained by the fates than our Ron and Hermione."

Just then there was the sound of a child screaming. "I think that's mine," said Fred, moving away from the window and ending the conversation.

Ron remained on the porch for some time, thinking about Hermione and what Fred and George had said. Ordained by the fates. _I like the sound of that,_ he thought. _I just wish it were true._

Behind him, the door opened softly and Ron turned to see his father step out onto the porch. Mr. Weasley looked up at the gray sky and then turned and saw Ron.

"Ron!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know you were out here."

"Yeah," Ron replied. "It was getting warm in there."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "And I'll bet you wanted to do some thinking. Am I correct?"

"Yeah," said Ron softly.

"Cheer up, son. Sometimes we must go through difficult times in order to appreciate the good ones."

Looking at his father, Ron asked, "Wasn't the war bad enough? I thought we were all due the good ones. A lot of them, for a long time."

"Well," said Mr. Weasley looking at Ron soberly. "They don't come when we expect them. Have you heard from her?"

Ron shook his head and buried his hands in his pockets.

"You know, sometimes it's hard to make the first move. It takes true bravery to stand up and say, 'let's talk.'"

There was a moment of silence and then Ron whispered, "I just don't know how, Dad."

Clapping a hand on Ron's shoulder, Mr. Weasley said, "You'll work it out, son. I have faith in you."

Quietly, the older man took a deep breath of fresh air and then turned and entered the house.

Ron stayed out on the porch for some time. Darkness had fallen, and he had sat down on a step when he thought he saw something in the sky. He squinted and watched as it grew closer. Suddenly, Ron recognized the object and stood, his eyes wide.

Hedwig landed on the porch railing close to Ron and held out her leg. With trembling fingers, Ron untied the small piece of parchment. It only took a second to read and the color leeched out of his face. Dropping the note, Ron turned on his heel and Apparated. Hedwig watched the fluttering parchment land on the porch with a single, hastily scrawled sentence, facing up.

_Hermione's sick. Come home. _


	13. Chapter 13 Impasse

Chapter XIII

Impasse

Ron Apparated outside the back door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Without hesitation, he reached out, turned the tarnished brass knob, and flung the door open. Flecks of black paint flew off as the door smacked the wall inside in the kitchen.

Hardly noting his surroundings, Ron took three large strides into the room before stopping suddenly. In front of him, Harry was nervously pacing the length of the kitchen. At the sound of the door slamming, he looked up sharply. For a brief moment, the two men just stared at each other.

It was Harry who broke the silence. "Where have you been?" he demanded. "What took you so long? I sent Hedwig almost half an hour ago." Harry tapped his watch in emphasis.

Ron gaped. Where had he _been_? Who was Harry to be demanding Ron make an account of his whereabouts? And what had _taken_ so long? Ron had come as soon as he had received Harry's note. Trying to put aside his anger, Ron asked, "Where's Hermione?" 

"Most likely throwing up in the loo," answered Harry. "Though," he added, "I can't imagine there's anything left to throw up. She's been sick like this for two days now."

Ron's heart almost stopped. What was wrong with his wife? Hermione did not get sick very often and when she did, it was usually a cold that went away the minute she took some Pepper-Up Potion.

Gulping, he asked, "What's wrong with her?"

Harry reached over to the kitchen table and picked up a crumpled wad of paper. When he held it up, Ron blinked. _The_ _Daily_ _Prophet_. _What in Merlin's name is going on here?_ Ron thought. Newspapers were listed in those bloody rules as a forbidden item. Hermione always had it delivered directly to the suite so Harry would not see it.

"Bad charm," Harry said, drawing Ron's attention to the headline.

_Bad Charm Sickens Partygoers  
_  
Ron reached out and took the paper from Harry.

_Employees in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures were sickened during a Christmas party held in the office at the Ministry of Magic._

A bad charm had been placed on sandwiches ordered from Flying Feasts, number seventy, Diagon Alley. Proprietress Wanda Crumbley was devastated to learn that her food had made the Ministry workers ill. "I take very good care with my food," Madame Crumbley claimed. "I only use the freshest of ingredients and the safest of charms."

Upon further investigation, it was discovered that an employee of Madame Crumbley, Filbert Denham, had a grudge against one of the Ministry workers, Everett Wishhart, and deliberately used a charm intended for use only on troll food on the sandwiches delivered to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Mr. Denham had recently lost his girlfriend to Mr. Wishhart and wished to get even. He is now in Ministry custody.

Mr. Wishhart and eight other employees have been admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies for treatment. Several other employees are believed to also have been sickened but have not, as of this writing, sought treatment.  
  
Ron finished reading and looked at Harry. "Is she this sick?" he asked. "Should she be in St. Mungo's?"

Harry's eyes flashed. "She can't even keep water down, Ron. But, you know Hermione; she won't admit she's that sick. She refuses to go and I can't take her. Winky's been trying to nurse her, but Hermione just keeps sending her away. I thought maybe you could talk some sense into her."

Ron snorted. "Why would I be any more able to talk sense into her?"

"Because you're her husband," Harry reminded him.

His expression hardening, Ron said, "But she's been living with _you_. Why don't you just take her?"

Harry looked exasperated as he flung out, "I _can't_ take her."

"Why not?" demanded Ron.

"I can't leave this house!"

Ron took a moment to give Harry a good, hard look that said _You could if you wanted to_._ You could if it was important enough._

Throwing the paper on the table, Ron ran across the room and up the stairs to Hermione.

Hermione leaned back against the yellow tile wall in the bathroom. She was sitting on the floor in front of the toilet and felt as if she had always been there. The cold of the tile beneath and behind her seemed to have seeped into her bones and she did not know if she would ever be warm again. Of course, she did not think her stomach would ever let her get up off the floor, so it seemed rather a moot point.

The first day she was sick, she had run in from the sitting room, and when she felt as though she was done throwing up, she had gone back to the sofa and wrapped herself in Ron's blanket. However, she had only just settled back in, when she had to make another run for it. After three more times and almost not making the last one, she had simply remained on the floor in the bathroom. At some point she had heard the door open as Winky brought her breakfast, the smell of which had Hermione lurching forward to throw up once more.

Winky had quickly left and Hermione was still heaving, when she felt someone kneel down beside her. Harry had put one hand on her back as she continued to throw up and when she was done, he had asked how long she had been sick.

"Since about midnight, I think," she had answered.

"Maybe you should see a Healer," he had suggested, putting a hand on her forehead. "You're running quite the fever as well."

Hermione had shaken her head firmly. The action merely served to make her dizzy and upset her stomach again and she awkwardly reached out to embrace the toilet. Finally able to take some deep breaths, Hermione had told Harry, "No, I'll be fine."

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No," Hermione had said, feeling her gorge start to rise once more. "No. _Please go_." 

Harry had acquiesced to her wishes, but he and Winky had both returned several times. Each time, they found Hermione in the same place and unwilling to move. Winky had pressed cold towels to her head which simply made it ache that much more and, at first, they managed to get her to drink some water, but each time, she threw it back up as quickly as it went down. Finally, Hermione told them to leave her alone and that she would be fine. She suspected that was a lie, but she could not think of any other way for them to just leave her be.

Now, though, the rational part of her brain (that still worked during the odd moment when she was not throwing up or fighting back nausea or trying to blink back the spearing pain in her head) told her that maybe she would not be fine. Maybe she should try to get some medical help. Each time she thought about it, though, she found herself unable to move.

With her head back and her eyes closed, Hermione found herself wishing for Ron. She missed him so much and knew that if he was with her, everything would be okay. Ron would take care of her and make her feel better. Breathing as deeply as she could without the motion of it making her sick, Hermione thought back to the night she and Ron had gotten engaged. She had been so startled when he had seemed to want her to leave the Burrow. She remembered the charming blush that had come over his face and how adorable he had looked in the candlelight, when she had pointed out that he had not actually asked her anything. Had she the strength, she would have smiled.

She was still lost in the memory when she heard the distant sound of a door clicking and a faint noise that resembled footsteps. Then she felt a hand on her back as someone crouched down beside her.

"Hermione?"

He sounded so real and so close.

"Hermione, love?"

She felt wetness on her cheeks as tears leaked out of her eyes. She missed him so much she was imagining he was with her. A hand stroked her hair and she opened her eyes and slowly turned her head. "Ron?" she croaked, finally focusing on the blue eyes she knew so well and seeing them reflect love and concern back at her.

"Yes, love. I'm here," he said quietly.

She started to smile and her stomach lurched. Flinging herself forward to the toilet, Hermione promptly threw up.

Ron grimaced as Hermione heaved over the toilet bowl. He reached forward and gently pulled her hair back from her face. Quietly, he knelt beside her, holding her hair and rubbing small circles on her back.

He could not believe how bad she looked. She had grown very thin and her skin had taken on the pallor Ron remembered on his Uncle Bilius' face just before he died. Her bushy brown hair was limp in his hand rather than lively and wild the way he liked it. He could feel her vertebrae beneath his other hand and he wondered how long she had been losing weight or was it just because of her being so ill?

After heaving almost nothing but bile for a few minutes, Hermione took some deep breaths and then leaned back into Ron. He settled himself on the cold tile floor and held her. _Merlin, how I've missed holding her_. He let her recover for a few minutes before speaking.

Finally, he said, "Hermione, I really think we need to get you some help." 

She shook her head. "No," she whispered. "I'm fine now. As long as you're here, I'll be just fine."

Stifling a sigh, Ron said firmly, "No, Hermione. This is serious. You need attention, and I'm taking you to St. Mungo's."

She looked at him with bleary eyes that were watering up. "But Ron, I don't want to go to St. Mungo's."

"I know, love," Ron answered. "But, you're very sick and I need you to get well."

"I'll get well," Hermione promised.

"I know you'll try, Hermione. But, I think you're going to need a little help on this one." Ron looked down at his wife and met her trusting eyes. "I know you don't like to admit that," he said. "But we all need help sometimes."

"And this is one of those?" Hermione asked, sounding a bit like a small and lost child. Ron hoped that troll charm had not affected her mind.

"Yes, love. This is one of those times."

Hermione seemed to give the idea careful consideration before finally nodding slowly. "Okay," she said, "I'll go."

Ron gave her a small grin. "Do you think I can move you?" he asked.

"Slowly," said Hermione. "Very slowly."

Ron reached beneath Hermione's knees and, carefully holding her, slowly got up off the floor. Hermione closed her eyes and gave a small whimper as she wrapped her arms around Ron's neck.

Ron thought quickly about the best way to actually get her to St. Mungo's. He was nervous about using the Floo, as the motion involved would undoubtedly have a very bad effect on her insides. He thought Apparition would be better because it involved less spinning, so he carried her out of the suite and carefully down the stairs.

When he reached the kitchen, Ron saw Harry look up from where he was perched on the table. Without having to be asked, Harry jumped down and ran to the door, which he opened wide to let them through. As Ron was passing through the doorway, he heard Harry's anxious voice. "Let me know, will you?"

Giving a brief nod, Ron stepped out of the house and turned on his heel.

Somewhere in the darkness, she heard voices.

"Very dehydrated…high fever…" said one. 

"…should have gotten here sooner…" said another. 

"Troll charms…nothing…"

"…wasn't home…brought…knew…"

Ah, Hermione smiled to herself. Ron's voice. She so loved hearing Ron's voice in her dreams. 

"How long?" she heard him ask. The answer was lost to her, but a moment later she thought she heard the sound of a door somewhere and then there was a feather-light touch on her right hand. Taking comfort in the fact that he was near, Hermione allowed herself to drift back to sleep.  
_  
_When she next awoke, it was to realize that her eyes felt very heavy and as she tried to open them, she felt as though she was trapped in a bowl of pudding. She struggled for what seemed like a long time until she managed to get her eyes open. The whiteness of the room almost blinded her, but she managed to blink until her eyes were narrow slits she could just see out of. Slowly, she turned her head and saw Ron sitting in a chair at the side of the bed. He was resting his head on the bed and snoring slightly as he held her hand.

Licking her lips several times before managing to open them, she whispered, "Ron?" At first there was no response; Ron had always been a heavy sleeper. She croaked his name again and then squeezed his hand. She thought she was squeezing firmly, but she barely felt her fingers move. It was, however, enough.

Ron's eyes blinked open and he lifted his head. When he saw her gazing at him, he asked, "Hermione?"

"What happened?" she asked.

"You've been sick, love," he replied, scooting forward on the edge of his chair.

The endearment made her smile weakly. "I was kind of getting that impression."

Ron gave a small grin and she felt her insides warm. It seemed like forever since she had seen that smile. "What do you remember?"

"I was sitting on the sofa and staring into the fire. Then I felt sick."

"Anything else?"

Hermione had vague images of Harry and Winky coming in and trying to help her, but she thought it best not to mention this - at least as far as it concerned Harry. "Not really," she said, shaking her head slightly and then grimacing as a sharp pain knifed through her temple.

"There was a party at your office the day before," Ron reminded her.

She wondered how he knew that. She thought back and remembered Everett dancing on the table with all the young girls cheering him on. She remembered not drinking the punch and then having a conversation with Tim MacDougal. They had discussed werewolves and how unfair the current laws regarding them were. Tim had seemed very passionate about the subject and especially so, once he learned Hermione felt the same way.

"Everett was pissed," Hermione said, watching Ron's grin grow.

"Was he?"

"Yes. He was dancing on a table, singing loudly and off key. What?" she asked when Ron chuckled.

"I didn't know your office was filled with such a party crowd," he replied. Sobering, he continued, "There was a bad charm on all the food, Hermione," he explained. "Someone who was angry with Everett about stealing his girlfriend cast a charm that's only supposed to be used on troll food. Apparently it makes things very tasty to trolls, but it's almost lethal to humans. The effects, however, are slow-moving—because trolls are very slow, I'd imagine—and that's why you didn't get sick until the next day. Once it hits, though, it's very forceful."

Hermione wanted to feel indignant at Everett and whomever he had made so angry, but she was not able to summon the strength for it. "So, this is all because of some stupid, petty, little get-even scheme?"

"Yes." 

"What people do in the name of love," she sniffed. 

Ron's smile faded. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Well, your fever's down a bit, and your head may still hurt, but you should be well enough to go home in a few days."

Home. Hermione thought of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and realized why Ron sounded so forlorn all of a sudden. She was wondering if he would come 'home' with her and where he had been staying when he squeezed her hand and asked, "Is there anything you need? Anything I can get for you?"

After considering the question for a moment she said, "My toothbrush?"

Ron was rummaging through some of Hermione's drawers in the dresser and thinking about his visit to Ginny after leaving his wife, when he heard a knock on the door outside the sitting room. Thinking it might be Winky, he dumped what he had so far into a small travel bag on the bed and then went to see what the house elf wanted.

To Ron's surprise, he opened the door to an anxious Harry.

"You were supposed to let me know what happened," snapped Harry, his eyes flashing behind his glasses.

"I just got back," said Ron, wondering why he had to defend himself. "Besides, what do you care?"

"Believe it or not, Ron, I do care."

"Oh, yeah, and constantly jinxing her and blasting her with stunning spells is a great way to show that."

Looking angry, Harry opened his mouth to reply. He paused a second and then snapped it shut again, still wearing an angry expression.

"What?" Ron demanded. "You're not going to hex me?"

"No, Ron," said Harry quietly. "I'm not. I only came to see how Hermione is."

Ron blinked. _What?_

"So," Harry asked, "how is she?"

Jolted out of his surprise, Ron said, "She's sick." He walked back into the sitting room and Harry followed.

"I know that. What do they say?"

Ron picked a book up off the dining table. _Why_ _Werewolves Should Have a Place in Wizarding Society_. It was marked just past the middle with a piece of pink ribbon and Ron thought that seemed an odd bookmark for his wife. He also thought the book was something that might keep her busy.

"They say she'll be there at least three days," he said, finally answering Harry. "Apparently troll food charms are 'nothing to be trifled with.'"

Narrowing his eyes, Harry asked, "And then what?"

"What do you mean?"

"Where does she go?"

Ron suddenly realized what Harry was getting at. He was wondering if Hermione would return to him and Grimmauld Place or if she would go with her husband. "I don't know," he answered, trying to bite back a sudden flare of anger. "She goes where she chooses."

"You're her husband."

"Well, that hasn't seemed to count for much lately, now has it?"

"It does to her."

Ron gave Harry a cold look as he sat down on one of the dining chairs.

"You don't believe me, do you?" 

Managing not to snort, Ron replied, "No."

"She only chose to stay with me because she was trying to be a good person," Harry insisted.

"It doesn't matter!" Ron got up angrily. He thought about throwing the book at Harry to try to get him to leave, but knew Hermione would think it was sacrilege; one never threw a book, no matter the reason. "She still chose to stay with you, and that speaks volumes!"

"Ron—"

But Ron cut him off. He was done with this conversation. He did not need to hear from Harry why Hermione had chosen to stay here rather than go with her husband. He also did not really want to think about the fact that Hermione would likely make the same choice when St. Mungo's released her.

"No," he spat, pulling out his wand, "I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear how much more important to her you are than I am." Pointing the wand directly at Harry, he added, "Now, get out before _I_ hex _you_!" 

Harry's expression turned sad and he said quietly, "I'm sorry, Ron." He turned and left the sitting room.

Ron closed his eyes and sank back into the dining chair. He dropped both the book and his wand to the floor and buried his head in his hands. Even Harry knew Hermione had chosen him.

Ginny Weasley sat as she did every Sunday when Ron and his family came to see her: staring straight ahead at nothing and rocking, almost violently, back and forth. The luster in her red hair was gone and Ron was just noticing that, in the past two years since the war had ended, it had apparently not been cut. He could not remember Ginny's hair ever having been waist length before. He would have to speak to someone about grooming her. He knew the private nurse and the other staff that attended to his sister were diligent about her hygiene, and while her hair always appeared to be combed, it was rather in need of being trimmed.

It was also clear she had not been outside in the fresh air or sunshine as her skin was so pale it had become almost translucent and even her freckles seemed faded. There was a large window in the room that let in daylight, but it was not nearly enough to offer the light tan Ginny used to have when she had been active outside trying to best her brothers in everything.

Ron had been sitting with his sister for an hour. He was supposed to be taking Hermione home soon, but had decided to stop here first. It was a bit unusual for him to see Ginny alone and during the week. His visits were also much shorter as the family took turns going in to see her under the watchful eye of their father, who would not leave the room during their weekly sojourns to St. Mungo's.

Whenever they visited, they all talked to Ginny. One of the Healers said it would not hurt and might even help for her to hear their voices. Usually, Ron felt silly talking to her when he knew she would not respond. He would make awkward comments to her about the weather and, if the Cannons were playing, sometimes Quidditch. He did not have to talk to her too much, though, as Hermione would keep up a stream of chatter about an assorted variety of subjects.

Today was different, though. Ron had not felt as awkward since there was no one watching his every move and, after a few minutes, he had simply begun talking and not stopped. He began with why he was at St. Mungo's at such an odd time and this grew into why he was living with George and Hermione was living with Harry. He vented his frustration with the situation and his despair that he and his wife would ever get back together, especially with Harry in the picture. Ron had not even felt self-conscious when a few tears had escaped down his cheeks. He had simply wiped them away and continued telling Ginny how upset and angry and alone he felt.

Now, watching Ginny rock, he realized he was not the only one who was angry and alone and he wished he could do something for his baby sister. The Healers had said in the beginning that she could be this way for a very short time or, possibly, forever. Ron did not think she should live this way forever. It was not the existence he, or any other Weasley, would have wished for her. It was not the existence Neville or, even, Harry, would have wished for her.

Ron mentally cursed Percy. It was all that prat's fault that Ginny was like this. If he had not turned, if he and Bellatrix had not come across Ginny and Neville that night…if, if, if…

But it was also Harry's fault to an extent. If he had not let Ginny go, she would not have fallen in love with Neville and when he was killed she might not have become like this. She had loved Neville as she had once loved Harry and losing them both, especially with such finality in Neville's case, had appeared to be her undoing. The strongest Weasley had fallen and fallen hard into a place where none could follow in order to try to pull her back.

Ron knew he could only pass the blame for so long before it came back to him. After all, he was the one who had killed Percy and this had been in front of Ginny. He always wondered if that had been the final thing that had pushed Ginny over the edge. He feared he would always wonder.

Leaning forward in his chair, Ron took Ginny's hands in his and looked into her strangely blank eyes. "I love you, Ginny. I wish you would come back to us. Thank you for listening to me today." He kissed his sister on the cheek and then got up to leave. At the door he paused and turned back for another glance at her. There was absolutely no change and, after a moment, he shook his head and left.

Ron made his way through the now much-too-familiar hospital and reached his wife's room in just a few short minutes. He found her sitting on the edge of her bed with her arms crossed and her eyes flashing.

"Where have you been?" she demanded.

"Well, I see you're feeling better," he said, somewhat acidly.

"I feel perfectly fine, and I've been waiting for you for at least ten minutes. I want to go home."

Ron felt angry. He had been there for Hermione throughout this whole troll food poisoning business and the best she could do, now that she was feeling better, was to snap and snarl at him. And they had not even discussed where she would be going after they left St. Mungo's.

The day before, Ron, who was still staying at ninety-three Diagon Alley, had asked George if he thought it would be okay if he brought Hermione back there the next day.

His brother had seemed surprised. "You think she'll come here?"

"I don't know," Ron had replied. "But, if I can talk her out of going back to Grimmauld Place, I don't have anywhere else to actually take her."

"The Burrow?" George had suggested.

Ron had shaken his head. "It doesn't feel right. The Burrow is only for people who are happily married. Hermione and I have an awful lot to work out, regardless of where we end up."

After thinking for a moment, George had said, "Yeah, sure, Ron. Do what you need to do. I'll help if I can."

Now, Ron was looking even less forward to the conversation he knew was imminent. And he knew how it would turn out, too.

Hermione was mentally cursing herself. When Ron had not shown up on time, she had become frightened that he would not be coming for her after all. With every minute that passed she became more and more convinced of this, until, when he finally walked in the door of her room, the only response she had to his presence was one of anger towards him for making her feel so afraid.

Now, she could see he was just as angry with her as she watched the tips of his ears turn red in response to her waspish comments. She closed her eyes and uncrossed her arms as she took a deep breath. She had been wringing her hands so forcefully that the only way to stop them was to cross her arms and hold her hands as close to her body as possible. She realized this posture made her appear defensive and hostile, but she had not known what else to do.

"So," Ron asked, with a tone that clearly implied he was working just as hard at holding back his own anger, "are you ready to go?"

Opening her eyes, she nodded and Ron moved forward to pick her travel bag up from the foot of the bed where it was waiting much more patiently than she had been. He heaved it over one shoulder and then took a step back as Hermione stood up. For a moment, they both simply looked at each other.

Hermione studied Ron's face in much the same way she would an Arithmancy problem on an exam. She did not know where to start with this. She remembered the conversation with Harry and the realization she had come to that night. _I don't know how to fix this,_ she thought. _No matter what Harry says, I just don't know how.  
_  
The little voice in her head piped up, _Tell him,_ it said. _Tell_ _him he comes first with you_. 

_He won't believe me,_ she argued back. _Why should he?_

_Then_ show _him_, said the voice. _Prove it through your actions._

Hermione took another deep breath and prepared to ask Ron where they were going. She knew that was the only way to prove to Ron what he meant to her: to go with him to wherever he had been staying. As she opened her mouth to ask the question, Ron spoke.

"Come on," he said, gruffly. "Let's go." He turned his back and walked out of the room and all Hermione could do was follow him.

"Ron," she started as they left St. Mungo's and stood on the street in front of what appeared to be a decrepit old department store. He shot her such an unpleasant look that she snapped her mouth shut.

A blue car pulled up and Ron opened the passenger door. "Get in," he stated. She obeyed and he shut the door behind her. She looked to the driver's side of the car just in time to see one of the twins getting out. There was a brief conversation between the brothers and the twin–she thought it was George–patted Ron on the back as Ron got in and sat behind the wheel.

They started forward and Hermione struggled to find something to talk about. As she cast back in her mind, she remembered hearing a story from Ron and Harry back in second year regarding a flying car they had flown to Hogwarts. "Is this it?" she asked curiously. "Is this the Anglia you and Harry went to Hogwarts in?" 

"Yes," replied Ron, somewhat tersely. "But we're not flying today. There are too many Muggles around."

She glanced at Ron in admiration and, yet, with a twinge of sadness. Her Ron would have thrown caution to the wind the minute he thought no one was looking and taken her for a ride. However, this Ron was being the responsible and mature Ron she had always told him he should be. 

"That's too bad," she said. After a moment she followed this with, "I didn't know you could drive."

She thought she saw a ghost of a grin on Ron's face as he replied, "Yeah. We all can. Dad thought it was important that we all know how to drive a car. We learned on this one on the roads around the Burrow. When he felt we were ready, we would drive through Ottery St. Catchpole until he declared we were fit drivers."

Hermione thought about that for a moment. "Uh, Ron?" she asked.

"Yeah?" 

"Do you, uh, have an actual, er, license?"

Ron ears turned red and she winced as she realized she had again made him angry. _What a talent I have,_ she thought wryly.

"No," he finally said.

"But, if you get pulled over for something…?" She let the question trail off.

"If we get pulled over for something," Ron continued for her, "we simply Obliviate the officer and move on." 

"Oh." Hermione opened her mouth to ask Ron another question, but she saw a tick begin just next to his left eye and decided it would be better if she kept quiet. She had a lot of repair work to do and things were not starting out well.

Leaning back in the car, Hermione watched the scenery go by. Ron turned expertly from one street to another and she started as she suddenly realized where he was taking her. She gave him a questioning glance, but he ignored her and pulled up in front of the house.

"I'll get your bag," he said, turning off the engine and getting out of the car.

Hermione was barely out of her side of the car when Ron appeared and helped her out the rest of the way. He slammed the door behind her and, putting a hand on the small of her back, guided her up to the front door. She stood back a few steps as he reached out to grasp the knob.

The last time Hermione had stood in front of this door had been very different. She had been nervous, yes, but also excited. Then they had been full of hope for the future. Hope for their lives together and her hope that they could help a friend. _How could things have gone so wrong?_ she thought miserably as she watched Ron stand back from the open door so she could pass. She took a halting step forward and then looked up into Ron's eyes. She willed him to read the question in her mind: _Are you sure?_ But Ron's eyes clouded over and, if there had been an answer there, it was gone now.

With her head starting to ache and her legs feeling weak, she did the only thing she could think to do and walked through the front door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Ron angrily watched Hermione walk up the stairs to their suite. He had seen her hesitate and hoped she would say something, but she had not and Ron knew the war was lost. Earlier in the day, he had packed a bag of his own belongings from the bedroom on the third floor and taken it to Diagon Alley. No matter how the day turned out, he had been sure of one thing and that was he would not be spending the night under Harry's roof. It seemed, however, that his wife would be. Trying not to grind his teeth, Ron followed her up the stairs. 

In the suite, Ron set the travel bag down on Hermione's bed and walked back to the sitting room. Harry, or, more likely, Winky on Harry's orders, had seen to it that there were fresh flowers on the mantel. They were set right next to their wedding photo and Ron cringed to remember how happy they had been. He glanced around the sparkling sitting room. There were more flowers on the dining table between the crystal candlesticks Aunt Ethel had given them for their wedding. On the back of the sofa, the quilt Mr. Weasley had given to Hermione for her birthday was neatly folded.

Hermione was putting the books Ron had brought her on the table in front of the sofa. Despite being so sick, she had made quick work of the werewolf book. Ron looked at his wife longingly for a moment while she was occupied with her books. He quickly wiped the expression off his face, however, when she straightened and looked up at him. Her face told him she was glad to be home and he felt a pain pierce his heart. 

"Well," he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone. "Winky will see to everything you need. If there's anything you want, you can call me using the Floo. When I'm not at work, I'll be at—"

"You're not staying?" Hermione cut him off.

Ron paused a moment and took in what appeared to be panic on Hermione's face. Finally he said, "No. I'm not staying." 

"But Ron—"

"I'm not staying here, Hermione," he said firmly.

He thought he saw tears in her eyes and begged Merlin or anyone who could help him, to keep her from crying. He did not know if he could fight her tears and win.

Hermione's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment and Ron stood waiting for her. It would be just downright rude to walk away from an almost-crying woman before she could find her voice.

"But, I need you," she managed to whisper. "I really _need_ you." A tear slid down her cheek and Ron knew he was lost.

_Bloody hell,_ he thought. All he said was, "Fine. I'll stay for tonight. Tonight _only_." He thought the smile she gave him in response to this made giving in completely worthwhile. After all, it was just one night.

A week went by and Hermione had managed to get Ron to stay at Grimmauld Place. Each night, she appealed to him to stay with her, claiming she still did not feel her best. "My head hurts," she would say, or, "I'm feeling a bit nauseated." That was all it took to get her husband to remain with her. The only thing she could not control, however, was the fact that Ron refused to share her bed. He was adamant about sleeping in the sitting room on the sofa and nothing she could say or do would persuade him otherwise.

Each day Hermione would try to find a way to tell Ron she was sorry and that he was the most important thing to her. She had thought that by making sure he was nearby, it would be easy to find some way to get the conversation going, but whenever she thought she found an opening, she also found a way out of it. She would suddenly need to use the loo, Harry would knock on the door—which always incited anger in Ron, who would disappear through the Floo—or Winky would appear with the day's post or a meal or just to check up. No, it had not been as easy as she thought it would be to broach the subject.

Of course, it could also have had something to do with the fact that, for Hermione, saying she was wrong went against her nature. She mentally railed at herself and the little voice in her head railed at her as well. Every time she spoke to Harry, he asked her if she had spoken to Ron. She knew what he meant and shook her head. Even Harry was beginning to become exasperated with her. 

"You have to talk to him!" he would insist.

"I will!" she would reply. "I just haven't had the chance!" 

And she was afraid it was about to become more difficult. 

She had returned to work that morning. Feeling well enough to go to work would mean that she could not really claim she felt ill enough that evening for Ron to have to stay with her. She had seen the look in his eyes when she had walked, far too bright-eyed, into the sitting room all dressed in her robes and ready to go.

Sitting down at the table, she had looked at Ron and smiled. He gave her a small smile back as he looked her up and down and that was when she had realized her mistake. Trying to be as nonchalant as possible, Hermione had reached for a slice of melon when Ron dropped his spoon in his bowl and said, "Have a nice day back."

"Thank you," she had said, watching him get up from the table and head to the fireplace.

He took a pinch of Floo powder and turned around. "Give that Wishhart bloke hell, okay?" he had said, grinning at her.

She had seen the grin and felt immeasurably relieved, sure he would be home tonight and she could talk to him. "I'll do my best," she had said.

He nodded once and then disappeared in a burst of green flames.

The day itself went by quickly. Hermione was apparently not the only one was who was only just back from the troll food poisoning incident as Everett not only stopped by her office to apologize profusely, but she also heard his voice apologizing to at least two other people.

"It's okay, Everett," she told him while he was standing in her doorway. 

"Really, Hermione, I am so very sorry about this whole thing," he repeated.

"Everett, it's not your fault this bloke was a little overly emotional," she said, trying to hold back a smile.

"No," he sighed. "I suppose not."

"Are you still with the girl?" Hermione asked.

"Girl?" Everett seemed confused.

"Yes. You know, the one you supposedly stole from Denham?" she prompted.

Everett's eyes lit up. "Oh!" he said. "Her. No. It was just one date."

Hermione was not sure why, but this answer annoyed her. At the very least, it should have been unrequited love that had caused this whole disastrous event. "Well," she said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice, "that's too bad. Now, if you don't mind, I have a lot to catch up on."

The rest of the day flew by as Hermione tried to catch up with the work that was piled on her desk. When there was about an hour left, she looked at the stack and decided that she had made quite good progress, really. Glancing at her watch, she wondered about the possibility of leaving early. Despite her productive day, she had not been able to get Ron out of her mind.

She still did not know how to begin the conversation. _Ron, I love you, don't ever leave me again,_ did not sound quite right. In fact, she knew it was downright wrong. 

The little voice tried to prompt her. _Start with Ron, you were right and I was wrong,_ it suggested.

Hermione flinched. Did she really need to be that blunt?

_Maybe_, suggested the voice, _tell_ _him what you told him last spring. You always come first with me, Ron_._ I'm sorry I forgot that._

She tried to shake the voice off, but it was persistent. _You can't keep putting this off_, it said vehemently. _You have to talk to him or you're going to lose him forever_. 

"I know," she said aloud. "Now, stop harassing me! I'll talk to him."

_See that you do_, said the voice.

The decision made, Hermione gathered her things and left the office.

She waited impatiently in the queue at the large fireplaces in the atrium—the waiting gave her too much time to think about the various ways she could begin this conversation—and finally her turn came. Taking a pinch of Floo powder, she stepped in and said clearly, "The suite at number twelve, Grimmauld Place." There was a burst of green as the flames shot up around her and then she was spinning past fireplaces before finally landing gracefully in her sitting room. Brushing soot off her robes she stepped out of the fireplace and came face to face with Ron.

They both froze and stared at each other.

She looked at the sofa and saw the large bag Ron had been hastily shoving his things into when she had arrived. Her eyes wide, she looked to his for an explanation.

"You're home early," he said, stating the obvious.

When she found her voice, she said, "So are you."

"I was, er, just gathering up some more of my things."

"Why?" Hermione knew it sounded desperate, but she did not care.

"Well, it's pretty clear to me that you're feeling better, so you don't need me here anymore." He looked so dejected that Hermione felt like crying. Actually, she _really_ felt like crying because he was leaving again.

"You don't have to go," she said, biting her lip. "Really, Ron, I want you to stay."

"You knew I wasn't going to continue to live here. I know you did." He closed the bag and threw the strap over his shoulder.

She was about to tell him that she would go with him. Wherever he was going, she would go with him. Instead, what came out of her mouth was vastly different. "I can't believe you're going to walk out on me again," she cried.

And just like that, the familiar anger that had been between them since they were eleven-years-old flared up.

"You're bloody right I am," snarled Ron. "You aren't the only person in this marriage, you know, Hermione. All I've done is give and give and give and all you've done is take and take. Nothing has changed since last November. You getting sick doesn't suddenly make everything all okay again!"

"You haven't even tried," Hermione spat back.

Ron gaped at her. "I haven't tried? You've got to be bloody joking! You chose Harry over me and yet I was the one who was here for you when you were sick. I'm the one who came to take you to St. Mungo's because your precious Harry wouldn't leave this house even to take care of you. I'm the one who sat with you, held your hand, dealt with the Healers, brought you your things and brought you home and you dare to stand there and tell me _I_ haven't tried?"

Hermione knew he was right, but some little imp inside of her, the same one that had kept her quiet all week, knocked the little voice aside as it was about to speak up and tell Hermione what to say. Instead of apologizing as she had intended to do, she blurted, "You wouldn't even share my bed this past week like a _real_ husband should."

The voice had been squashed and the imp was now in control. Hermione's comment had been an attempt to goad Ron, to possibly even hurt him. She did not know why she felt the need to do this, but it was there and once the argument had begun, the comments flew. On both sides.

Ron went red. The bag on his shoulder dropped as he shifted his weight in an effort to control himself. He straightened his arm and let it fall to the floor.

"What do you need _me_ for, when you've got Harry?" he demanded.

Without thinking, Hermione flung out, "At least Harry behaves like a man!" 

"Oh, yeah," responded Ron, taking a step forward. "A real man's life is measured by how he hides in his house."

"He doesn't need to go anywhere to be in touch with his emotions." She took a step back as Ron took another forward. Now there was something in his eyes that was almost menacing. There was an almost wild reaction deep in the pit of her stomach as she watched those eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. She continued to goad him. "The only emotion you're in touch with is self-pity."

His nostrils flared again as he moved forward once more. "Is that so," he asked darkly.

"Yes," she shot back as she stepped backward into the wall.

Ron closed the distance between them and clamped his hands on her upper arms. There was a brief pause as fire flew between their gazes and then Ron's mouth came crashing down on hers. He kissed her with a passion and ferocity she had never felt before, and she kissed him back just as fiercely.

When they finally pulled apart, their breathing was ragged and it took Ron a moment to rasp out, "Still think I feel nothing but sorry for myself?"

Hermione was just as slow in her answer. "Yes," she finally managed as she put her hands on his waist and entangled her fingers in the belt loops on his jeans. "Show me you've got more than that," she challenged, watching as his eyes blazed just before he bore down on her again.

They came together with a harshness neither of them had previously realized was there. In the past, they had most certainly been passionate with each other, but never had they let down every reserve barrier; this time there was no holding back as clothes were thrown indiscriminately around the room. Their hands were rough as they grabbed each other. Ron seized Hermione almost violently at times, leaving her with bruises she would discover later, while Hermione's nails left deep scratches on his back, torso, and arms. She nipped at his ears, shoulder and neck while he left his own teeth marks in other places. In the end, there were no words as they came together in a way they never had before, and both would be left with lasting impressions and, even, recriminations.

Afterward, they collapsed into one heap on the floor and struggled to regain their breath. By the time Hermione was able to speak, Ron was already asleep with his head resting on Hermione's thigh.

Ron's foot was asleep and he blinked his eyes open to see what could have caused that. He felt a weight on him as he gazed up from the sitting room floor in confusion. A slight turn of his head revealed the weight to be his wife and, as he took in their unclothed state, it all came rushing back to him.

He had tried to get back to the suite early and get his things packed so he could be gone by the time Hermione arrived home. He knew he was being a coward for sneaking off the way he was, but it seemed to be the only thing he could do. Part of the reason he had agreed to stay with Hermione all week was to give the two of them a chance to talk. Ron's stubbornness insisted that Hermione be the one to start the conversation, and several times he had thought she was going to - only to be disappointed when she would look away or suddenly bury her face in a book. He could tell by her eye movement that she was not really reading, and each time he felt slighted that she had again kept silent.

But this morning when Hermione had sat down for breakfast and Ron could see she was obviously healthy again, it became apparent that she just expected them to pick up where they left off two months earlier. Despite knowing that he could have brought the subject up at any time during the week himself, Ron decided then that he would have to leave again. Hermione had clearly become comfortable with the status quo, and it seemed that she was expecting him to do the same.

Ron had been stunned when Hermione, who must have had loads of work to catch up on and would most likely stay very late in an effort to not only catch up but get ahead, had stepped out of the fireplace so early. 

There had been words and then…well, then.

Feeling his face turn pink in embarrassment as he recalled his violent actions that had landed them on the floor like this, Ron slowly extricated himself from Hermione's arms. He took a pillow from the sofa and gently put it under her head and then covered her with that bloody maroon and orange quilt. As quickly and quietly as he could, Ron gathered up his clothes and dressed.

He picked his bag up from the floor where he had dropped it and looked sadly at his wife. He had never made such angry love to his wife before, and he was ashamed. He felt there was no way he could bear to stay until she woke up, no way he would be able to face her. _Now_, he thought, _I've ruined this._ _There's absolutely no way we can recover_. His last thought as he slipped out the door into the hallway was _I'm worse than Harry_. 

Hermione sat quietly in a small exam room at St. Mungo's. The room was cool and the gown they had put her in let in a breeze she could well have done without. A Healer had spent some time with her, listening to her complaints and taking notes on a parchment before performing what seemed to Hermione a perfunctory exam. Afterwards, he had smiled at her and told her he would be right back. That was over half an hour ago, and Hermione was starting to get angry at the delay.

These days it did not take much for Hermione to get angry. She felt as though the only thing fueling her was her fury towards Ron. Even Harry had stayed away from her since the day Ron had left for the second time.

She had awakened on the cold wood floor to find that Ron had covered her and left. When she saw his bag was gone, she knew he was gone for good. _Lovely_, she told herself, _just lovely_. She was not sure what it was that angered her more: that she had provoked him the way she did, or that he had made love to her and then left anyway.

Every day she told herself she no longer wanted Ron back and, to that end, she refused to contact him. Every night, she sat down and wrote him a long apologetic letter telling him how sorry she was and asking him what she could do to win him back. She never signed her name, but instead left the letter open-ended and cried herself to sleep. She would reread the letters when she got up in the morning and then promptly burn them. She had fed a great deal of parchment to the flames in the fireplace during recent weeks.

A few days earlier she had been in Diagon Alley running some errands—parchment was high on her list of needed items—and was walking past a butcher shop when someone came out of it and the smell from inside assailed her nose and she wrinkled it in disgust. _Odd_, she thought, _that's never happened before_. Quickly, she had moved out of range as her stomach started roiling. A few minutes later she stopped. Standing in the middle of the street, she tilted her head and gnawed on her lip, lost in deep thought. She had noticed recently that certain food smells were causing some rather unpleasant reactions, usually along the lines of nausea and, on one occasion, vomiting. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps she was suffering from some kind of delayed reaction to the troll food charm.

She had debated the issue with herself for a few days before deciding she did not want to take a chance on getting that sick again and this was why she was sitting in this little room waiting for a Healer who seemed to have gone to lunch. Just as she was glancing at her watch and deciding she would give the little man five more minutes, the door opened and a petite redhead entered the room.

The woman smiled brightly at Hermione and said, "Hello, Mrs. Weasley, I'm Gwendolyn Morris. It's a pleasure to meet you." 

"Uhm, hello," Hermione replied,

Healer Morris sat down in a chair opposite where Hermione was sitting and proceeded to consult the parchment in her hands while continuing her speech. "Now, I do have some questions—they're rather standard—and we'll have to set up a timetable for you, as I'll want to see you on a regular basis."

Hermione felt her eyes widen at this. What could be so wrong that they would need to see her on a regular basis? 

Looking up from her notes, Healer Morris must have seen the expression on Hermione's face. Her brow furrowed in concern and she asked, "What's wrong?"

"That's what I'd like to know," said Hermione. "That other Healer was in here and he told me he would be right back and then after the longest time you came in here and you tell me you need to see me regularly?"

After a brief pause the Healer smiled. "He didn't tell you?" she asked. 

When Hermione shook her head, the redheaded woman's smile grew and she set her parchment down in her lap. "Let me start again," she said. "I'm Gwendolyn Morris and I'll be your Healer-midwife."

Hermione sat quietly as she took in the words. It was a moment before the true meaning of them came to her and she responded as a true Weasley.

"You're joking!"

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was celebrating the approach of Valentine's Day with several new products, including an exotic line of love potions. They began with a simple potion that would wear off in a few short hours and graduated up to one that would not only last a whole fortnight, but that suggested the possibility of a lingering imprint. There were some others that were geared for specific genders. The one for men promised that the women they gave them to would not only fall madly in love with them but the woman would cook favorite meals, pick up socks and generally cater to the bloke's every need without complaining. On the other hand, the one for women guaranteed their man would shower them with gifts of flowers, chocolate, and jewelry; take them out for sumptuous meals; and give the most engaging of foot massages.

The shelves were almost empty.

Ron carried a stack of boxes out to the floor. He had stocked the potions every night before the shop closed. Since it was a Saturday and the Cannons were not playing for another two weeks, he had the day off and had found himself refilling the shelves on a constant basis. Both Fred and George had claimed that when Ron was working in the shop, it was his responsibility to make sure the love potion shelves were always full. Ron felt it was some sort of twisted punishment because things had not worked out with Hermione.

Ron vaguely heard a woman's voice say, "Ooh, these are the good ones!" He found himself being herded toward the till as the boxes were grabbed right out of his arms until, finally, he was left standing there with one box in his hand and a dazed expression on his face. Hearing laughter, Ron turned to glare at Fred who was standing behind the till handing a bag to a witch with an excited look on her face. Fred winked at Ron as another witch stepped forward to pay for a love potion.

"I'm really starting to hate this place," Ron muttered to himself as he turned back toward the stockroom.

A few weeks earlier, when Ron had returned to the flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, it had been to find Fred and George doing their weekly bookkeeping at the kitchen table. Ron had sat down heavily in a chair and they had both looked at him with slightly surprised expressions. When he told them it was finally, completely over, they had sat there in shock. 

Leaving out the furious lovemaking, Ron had told the twins what the week had been like and about the big fight in the sitting room. He had been about to ask if he could stay there again when Fred spoke up.

"Why didn't you try to talk to her?" he had asked.

"Because, she's the one who made the decision," Ron had answered.

"Wait," George had said, holding up a hand. "Let me see if I've got this right. You didn't ask her where she wanted to go, you just took her to Grimmauld Place?" 

Ron had thought about it. "Yeah," he had finally answered. "I guess that's right. She was so angry that I kept her waiting and when she said she wanted to go home, I just reckoned that's what she meant."

"Ron, you idiot!" both twins had cried at once.

He had jumped as Fred continued. "If you weren't going to ask, you should have just brought her here. You took her to Grimmauld Place, and that probably made her feel like you didn't want her."

"Or," George had put in, "like you were willing to do what she wanted. Either way, you sent her the wrong message."

Fred had nodded. "You have a lot to learn about marriage, ickle Ronniekins."

"Shut up," Ron had said dejectedly. "Since it's over, I doubt if it matters now, anyway."

The twins had allowed Ron to stay at the flat with George, so long as he put in his share of time at the shop when he not working his regular job with the Chudley Cannons. Ron had agreed and he had to admit, at least it did keep him busy.

Then, they started the Valentine's Day promotion and Ron had been miserable.

He left the stockroom with another armful of potions and hoped he would actually get some of them on the shelves. _Maybe I should just stand at the door and hand them out_, he thought as he felt one get grabbed from the top of the pile.

An hour later with the shelves about a quarter full, Ron went up to his brothers behind the counter and said, "That's it. I'm done with those things until the store closes. I'm tired of being mobbed by women!"

The twins burst out laughing, and George gave him a good shove.

Just then someone walked up to the counter and the laughter suffered a quick and painful death. Ron turned to see what happened and saw Hermione standing on the other side of the counter.

"Hello, Fred. George," she said politely before looking at Ron. "Can we talk?" she asked him.

Ron opened his mouth to answer and heard Fred's voice. "Of course, Hermione. Ron was just about to take a break anyway."

"Yeah," seconded George. "Why don't the two of you head on upstairs. Have some tea or pumpkin juice or something." The twins ushered Ron and Hermione to the door that led upstairs.

Once in the kitchen, they stood looking awkwardly at each other. Ron watched Hermione bite her lip and noticed that she was wringing her hands, and he knew what it had cost her to come here. He was opening his mouth to ask her if she wanted something to drink—anything to break the silence—when she spoke.

"We have to talk," she said, quickly.

He looked into her eyes and nodded. "Yeah. We do." Leaning back against a counter, Ron wondered where to start.

"Look Hermione—"

"Ron—"

They both stopped and then tried to smile to encourage the other to speak. After another moment they both opened their mouths only to shut them again.

Finally, Ron said, "You first."

"Please," she said.

Ron waited while she worked her mouth soundlessly for a moment. He did not want to risk accidentally interrupting her again. After what seemed an age, she looked up at Ron and spoke.

"I'm pregnant."


	14. Chapter 14 The Darkest Hour

Chapter XIV

The Darkest Hour

Ron felt the blood drain from his face at Hermione's words. He felt grateful for the counter he was leaning on, for it was surely holding him up. Pregnant? Hermione was _pregnant_? All sorts of thoughts and ideas whirled around in his head, but the first and foremost was that this had to have happened during that one violent time they were together in the sitting room the day he left for the second time. Again filled with shame at the thought of what had happened there, Ron looked up at Hermione to see her still chewing her lip as she waited for a response from him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Hermione's teeth released her lip and he saw her eyes start to water as she repeated, "Sorry? You're _sorry_?"

"Yes."

"Ron, we're going to have a baby and all you can feel is _sorry_?" There was a catch in her voice as she tried not to cry.

"No," he replied, and he knew he meant it. "I'm not sorry we're going to have a baby. I'm sorry it happened like this."

Hermione studied his face and, after a moment, she nodded. "We could have handled it all better, couldn't we?"

"Yeah." Ron looked at his wife. He took in the shadows under her eyes and the paleness of her face, and watched as she continued to wring her hands in front of her. "Why don't we sit down?" he suggested, going to the table and pulling a chair out for her.

Hermione sat down and Ron sat next to her. For a moment neither of them spoke. Ron watched Hermione's still wringing hands until he was sure they might fall off. He reached out and took her hands in his. Their eyes met and he tried to smile at her reassuringly. A ghost of a smile flashed across Hermione's face.

"So, er," began Ron, "when did you find out?"

"Two days ago," Hermione answered. "I wasn't feeling well and thought it was something left from the troll charm, so I went to see a healer."

Ron nodded as though he understood. Both of them seemed at a loss for words as they wondered where they should start, what they should do, now. He sat quietly, staring at their clasped hands on the table.

Hermione broke the silence this time. "We shouldn't tell anyone, yet, though," she said.

Ron looked up at her, confused. "Why not? Isn't this something we should be pleased about? Something we want everyone to know about?"

"Well, yes. But it's still early days, yet. Anything could happen."

Ron thought about that. _Anything could happen_. Yes, that could pretty much describe their marriage as a whole, so far. Anything that _could_ happen had certainly seemed to have. It seemed unfair that one more thing could happen now, and he hoped that would not be the case.

"When?" he asked. "When can we tell people?"

"I'm about six weeks along," Hermione said, finding her confident, know-it-all voice that Ron knew so well. He almost smiled as her self-assurance in the knowledge she was imparting strengthened her voice and made it loud and clear. "So," she continued, reclaiming Ron's attention, "we should be safe in about another six weeks. That's about how far along Fleur and Angelina were when they made their announcements."

Ron had no idea "how far along" Fleur and Angelina might have been when they announced they were going to have their babies. It had never occurred to him that something might have happened before they told the family, and the idea that something might happen to his and Hermione's baby was one that made his blood run cold.

He was sitting quietly, thinking about all of this, when Hermione cleared her throat and said, "I think we have a lot we should be talking about now, don't you?"

She was looking at him nervously, and he could feel her hands twitch as she felt urged to wring them again. He almost grinned at that, but instead he simply said, "Yeah, we do. I just don't know where to start."

"Neither do I."

Looking into his wife's big, brown eyes, Ron said, "Hermione, I never imagined we could ever find ourselves here. Like this." He swallowed, wondering if he was making sense.

Apparently he was, because Hermione gave a small smile of understanding and said, "I know. Everything has gotten so very confused. We have so much that we need to work out, but it's just like being at Hogwarts again. I thought we'd moved past that."

"I don't think we'll ever move completely past that, Hermione. It's part of who we are together: 'Ron and Hermione, always bickering.'"

With a small laugh, she replied, "How many times have we been told that we remind people of your parents?" They smiled together in a way they hadn't in so long, that Ron did not think he could remember when it was. Sobering, Hermione continued, "It _is_ who we are, Ron, and that's okay. But we have to learn to look past the fighting. We have to know when to stop and take that deep breath and think about what we're saying and how we say it."

Ron agreed, but he thought there was more. "We also have to learn how to show what we mean and feel as well."

Hermione blanched and Ron knew his words had hit a mark. He also knew she was not the only one who needed to work on that.

Drawing her hands back from Ron, Hermione replied, "Yes, we do."

Hermione sat wearily in front of the fire in the suite at number twelve Grimmauld Place. She was holding a cup of Mother Millicent's Mother-To-Be tea in her hands. It helped with the nausea, and every now and again she would take a sip. While the flames danced merrily in the fireplace, she thought back on her conversation with Ron that afternoon.

It had been clear that he had been absolutely gobsmacked by her news. She had watched his face turn white, and his freckles stand out in abrupt contrast to his skin. For two days she had worried about his reaction. She had thought about it over and over until she felt she simply could not think anymore and then, somehow, she managed to keep thinking about it. Brenna had once told Hermione that she over thought things and this was a clear-cut case of that.

But Ron's reaction had not been anything like Hermione had expected. She had envisioned him yelling at her for being careless or even asking who the father was. Instead, he had apologized. And what had left _Hermione_ gobsmacked was that he had apologized for how it had happened; for that one fierce night they had been together after his brief return to Grimmauld Place.

Hermione swirled her tea a bit. The motion made her feel a bit nauseated but she swallowed it back down and continued with her rambling thoughts.

Truth be told, Hermione had deliberately goaded Ron that night. She had wanted him in a way she would never have been able to describe, and when he had risen to her bait, as she had known he would, the release was even more powerful and amazing than she could have imagined. At the time, she thought he had felt the same, but now she wondered. Sometimes, when one expected Ron's mind to go in one direction, he amazed a person and went somewhere completely unforeseen. This seemed to be one of those times.

One of the things they had discussed that afternoon was living arrangements. Hermione, suspecting Ron would not be the one to bring it up, had addressed it early on in their conversation. She told him she would go wherever he felt necessary. She would even live above the shop, if need be. Ron had smiled briefly, but a moment later told her he felt that perhaps they should not just jump into living together again. "Maybe," he had said, "we should take this slowly, so we have a better chance of getting it right." It was one of the most mature things she had ever heard him say, and she was even more surprised when Ron had told her to stay at Grimmauld Place. "You don't need any more upheaval in your life right now."

In the end, Ron had kissed her gently on the cheek and she had returned to Grimmauld Place, using the Floo in order to avoid seeing Harry. With so much on her mind, she just wanted to be alone to think and digest and try to work out how to save her marriage, and give this child inside of her two reasonably happy parents.

Hermione put one hand on her abdomen and smiled. A baby. She, Hermione Granger—no, Hermione _Weasley_—was going to have a baby. She was going to be a mother. The thought pleased and excited her immensely and she hoped the baby would have Ron's good looks and her intelligence. That was not to say Ron was not intelligent, however. That was just hoping that the baby would be _exceptionally_ intelligent. Hermione frowned, grateful this was not a conversation she was having with anyone other than herself, as the wording was all just coming out completely wrong.

With a sigh, Hermione set the teacup down on the table in front of the sofa and yawned. She found she was tiring much more easily these days and, despite the early hour, she decided to head off to bed. For the first night in almost longer than she could remember, she fell asleep easily and with a feeling of hope.

Ron stood at the open window in the bedroom that used to be Fred's above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. His arms were resting on the windowsill as he breathed in the cold February air. If George had been home, he would have complained to Ron to shut the window, but George was out on a date with the enigmatic and perky Gwendolyn, and Ron had the flat to himself.

It was a good thing, too. He had a lot to think about and it was always better if there was no one around to harangue him about, well, anything and everything.

He thought about that afternoon and Hermione's stunning news. She was pregnant. Hermione, his wife, was going to have a baby. _I'm going to be a father_. The thought at once alarmed and astonished him. They weren't even making it on their own; how could they possibly make things work with a baby? But, a _baby_. A small version of Hermione looking up at him and trusting him, needing Ron to do the things a father did; someone who needed Ron.

He wished Hermione was with him now. She had said she would stay, but he had told her to go back to Harry. _No, not Harry_, he mentally corrected, _Grimmauld Place_. The baby changed everything. Now, Harry was the least of Ron's worries. Now, Ron needed to concentrate on his wife and child and making sure they had everything they needed and were taken care of properly. Of course, this was something he could accomplish much more easily if he and Hermione were living together. But Ron had decided the shop was no place for a pregnant woman to live, and he did not think moving, if he'd had any idea of where they could move to, would be a good idea either. He wanted to keep things calm for her and he felt the best way was for her to just continue living at Grimmauld Place.

On the other hand, he still could not bring himself to move to Grimmauld Place. In a petty way, he felt it would be giving in; Harry and Hermione would have won. But, even more, he just did not want to feel as though he was compromising his principles. He still did not trust Harry, but his wife did, so he would have to trust her. He, however, was not only not willing to trust his former best friend, he was adamant that he and Hermione not just jump back into things without first acknowledging how they had gotten so bad.

And so Ron stood at the window racking his brain for any possible ideas on how he could work through things with his wife. He did not know how long he had been there when a whooshing sound told him someone had arrived in the kitchen via the Floo. Pulling the window closed, he heard a familiar voice calling, "Hello? Anyone here?"

Bill was setting a box down on the kitchen table when Ron walked in. "Hi, Bill," he greeted his brother.

Looking up, Bill replied, "Ron." He indicated the box, "Fleur sent this over. She thought you might be hungry for some good food rather than what George calls food."

Ron grinned. George's cooking was notoriously bad, and anyone with half a brain made themselves scarce when the single twin got near a kitchen. "George is out with Gwendolyn. But," he added, "I'm hungry."

Bill laughed and asked, "When aren't you hungry?"

Ron was laughing with his brother when he sobered as he thought of all he had been through lately. "Actually," he said quietly, "there have been times recently where I _haven't_ been hungry."

Bill sat at the table and started to open the box. "Well, hungry or not, this is something you don't want to miss."

Joining Bill, Ron asked, "What is it?"

"I have no idea. It's something French. Fleur wouldn't tell me what it was, but said I would love it and she was right."

Grinning, Ron said, "Your wife is always right."

Bill laughed. "Always," he agreed.

The box was emptied and a wide array of food was laid out on the table. Ron summoned a fork and knife and dug in. As he chewed his first mouthful, he closed his eyes and his face assumed an expression of bliss. "Mmm…"

"That's exactly what I said."

"I am not saving _any_ of this for George," said Ron, taking another mouthful.

"I think that's fair. If he's not here, he doesn't deserve any."

"Mmm hmm…"

There was a healthy spread in the box and Ron made quick work of it. He had not been at the Burrow for a few Sundays and, therefore, had not had anything resembling a decent meal since then. As he licked his fork clean, he vowed to make sure he always made it to the Burrow for Sunday dinners.

When he was done, Ron cleaned the flatware and sent it back to its proper drawer, while Bill repacked the dishes into the box.

Leaning back in his chair, Ron rubbed his stomach, closed his eyes, and said, "That was so good. Be sure to thank Fleur for me."

"She'll be glad you enjoyed it," replied Bill.

There was silence in the kitchen and, after a moment, Ron opened his eyes and looked at his brother. Bill was wearing a serious expression as he asked, "How are things going. I mean, how are things _really_ going?"

Ron did not answer right away. For the most part, his family had left him alone with regards to his troubles with Hermione. He felt they were waiting for him to come to them. Other than the conversation with George when he had first showed up at the flat and the talk with his father at Christmas, he had really not talked openly about his struggling marriage. He thought about Hermione's news that day and wondered if he should say anything to Bill. He knew his oldest brother would have good advice for him. Talking to Bill was almost as good as talking to his dad. But, then, Hermione had told him they should not say anything.

Bill waited quietly while Ron struggled with his mental debate. Finally the younger brother looked up and blurted, "Hermione was here today."

"Well, that's good. Isn't it?"

"She had some news."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"She said I shouldn't," said Ron. "But, I don't know what to do."

"You know, Ron," said Bill leaning forward and drawing his brother's full attention to him. "I'm always here for you. We're _all_ here for you. We know how you and Hermione feel about each other, and we want to do whatever we can to help."

Imitating his wife, Ron bit his lip. There was a brief pause before he said, "Hermione's pregnant."

He thought he saw something resembling shock on Bill's face as the older man sat back in his chair. "How far along?" he finally asked.

"She said six weeks."

"Six weeks." Bill paused and Ron knew he was doing some mental math.

Not wanting his brother to think otherwise, Ron said, "The baby's mine."

"But, you've been separated for three months."

"Yes, but she got sick. When she was well enough to come home from St. Mungo's, I stayed with her for a bit at Grimmauld Place and, well…" Ron's voice trailed off. He couldn't tell Bill about that. He couldn't tell _anyone_ about that. He didn't even think he could discuss what had happened with Hermione.

"I see," Bill said quietly. "So, what now?"

Ron sighed. "I don't know," he said. "I just don't know." He knew it sounded weak. He had to start somewhere but he had no idea where that might be. He tried, unsuccessfully to come up with a better answer for his brother. There was a quiet pause in the conversation and Bill was also apparently lost in thought.

Suddenly, Bill spoke up. "Do you want the child?"

Ron's eyes widened and, stunned, he nodded. How could anyone think otherwise?

"Do you love Hermione?" his brother continued.

"Yes," Ron said emphatically, wondering why Bill was asking such ridiculous questions.

"Then you'll figure everything else out. Marriage is hard. It takes work every single day. There are times when you wonder why you're putting yourself through it. When that happens, ask yourself those two questions again. For me there is only one thing harder than living with Fleur, and that's _not_ living with her."

"I can't just sit there and keep watching her get hurt."

"You can if you have to. And you can help her most by just being there. When you leave you may spare yourself the pain of watching, but she still gets hurt and you're not there to help ease her pain."

Ron's brow furrowed as he thought about this. He was still thinking when Bill spoke again.

"Would you step in front of a curse for her?"

"Of course I would!" Ron answered angrily.

"So, you would do something for Hermione, even though it caused you pain?"

Ron looked at his hands and suddenly felt very selfish. The longer he sat there thinking about it, the more he realized that was what Hermione had been doing for Harry. She was willing to suffer for those she loved, and Ron knew, clearly and without any doubt, that she would suffer for Ron if, in any way, it could help him.

"I'm an arse," muttered Ron.

"Of course you are!" agreed Bill heartily. "You're a man in love with his wife. That means you'll always be an arse in one way or another!"

Ron laughed. "Yeah. You're right about that. But, I still don't know what to do now. I still don't have a clue what my next move should be."

Shaking his head, Bill replied, "And to think, they call you the best chess player Hogwarts ever saw." With that, he got up from the table and picked up the box of dishes he needed to take home to the Burrow. "No one can decide that but you, Ron. Only you can make the next move."

He moved toward the fireplace and scooped up some Floo powder from an ostentatious gold urn on the mantle that the twins insisted on using to hold it. Stepping into the fireplace and turning around to face Ron, Bill said, "Remember, we're all here and ready to try and help, even if all we can do is listen." Before Ron could reply, Bill threw down the Floo powder and said in a strong voice, "The Burrow!" Then, he was gone.

Hermione sat at her desk and ignored her rumbling stomach. She had a report to get out and there was no time for eating. Trying, unsuccessfully, to continue with her work, she scribbled something on a piece of parchment. She got down a paragraph and then read what she had written. She frowned and read it again. It made no sense, absolutely no sense at all.

With a sigh of exasperation, she flung her quill down on the desk as her stomach rumbled again. Clearly, she would be too distracted to finish this report properly if she did not find some food.

She was just wondering what she should have for lunch, when there was a knock at the door to her office. Grumpily, she called out, "Come in!" As she looked up from the messy parchment in front of her, she found herself smiling as a head covered in bright ginger hair poked around the corner of the door.

"Is there a Mrs. Weasley here?"

Laughing, Hermione replied, "That depends on who's asking."

Ron grinned and walked into the room.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said holding up a large basket.

"Why aren't you at work?" she asked as she eyed the folded blue blanket tucked under the arm that was not holding the basket.

"Because it's lunch time and I need to feed my wife—" his voice dropped to a whisper. "And child."

Smiling broadly, Hermione asked, "And where do you think we're going to have this picnic, in the middle of winter?"

Ron set the basket on her desk and, taking the blanket in both hands he threw it out in front of him to land smartly on the floor next to the desk. Picking the basket back up, he grinned cheekily at his wife. "Right here," he said, waving toward the floor.

With the basket in one hand, Ron held the other out to Hermione. She took it and rose from the chair. Taking two steps to her right, she then sank down onto the blanket and let go of Ron's hand. He sat across from her and set the basket in between them.

Hermione watched as Ron began to unpack the basket. She started to grin as she saw him take out a bottle of milk and two champagne glasses. He looked up and caught her expression. With a sheepish nod of his head, Ron said, "Well, milk can still be elegant, right?"

Laughing, Hermione replied, "Yes. Yes it can."

Ron poured the milk and removed a plate of cheese and crackers from the basket. Setting that down, he reached in again and brought out some uncharacteristically dainty cucumber sandwiches. "These," he said, "are for you. This—" he reached into the basket again. "—is for me." With a flourish, he pulled out a container, the smell from which caused Hermione to gag.

She threw a hand up to her face and covered her mouth. "Ron!" she asked. "What is that?"

Frowning, Ron looked from Hermione's face to the container. "Just some blood sausage."

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to breathe through her mouth. It did not seem to help very much. "Get rid of it," she said, her voice muffled from behind her hand.

"What? Why?"

"The smell. Ron, get rid of it or I'm going to be sick!"

Ron performed a banishing spell, and when Hermione opened her eyes, she saw her husband giving her an odd look.

After quickly pulling out her own wand and clearing the air of the lingering odor from the offending sausage, Hermione said, "The smell of meat. It makes me sick."

"Meat makes you sick?" Ron looked at her with an expression of disbelief. "Since when?"

"Since I got pregnant," Hermione answered. "I'm affected differently by certain smells and tastes."

Ron slumped a bit on his side of the blanket. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I had no idea."

"It's okay, Ron." She said reaching out and resting a hand on his arm. "You couldn't have known."

Hermione watched Ron for a moment. Whatever he was thinking was making him angry. "I should have known," he said and looked up at her. "I would have known if I was living with you."

"What makes you say that?" she asked, looking at him curiously.

"We'd be talking more. I'd have spent a few more meals with you. I just would have _known_."

Hermione bit her lip. She couldn't deny that if they weren't separated, they might be more closely in tune with each other and he might have been aware of her current reactions to certain things. But this picnic had been so sweet. He was clearly reaching out to her and she felt her heart skip a beat as she looked at his sulky expression.

"Ron, I told you, I'll go wherever you are."

He looked at her for a long moment before answering. "No. I'm not asking that of you. We discussed this the other day."

"I know you're not asking, Ron. I'm volunteering." She seemed to be having a great deal of trouble convincing him she would leave Grimmauld Place. Then another thought occurred to her and she wondered where the little voice in her head was, that it didn't silence the thought. "Unless, you don't want me?"

Ron gave her a stricken look. "Of course I want you, Hermione! How could I not? You're my life and I love you."

Hermione felt her eyes water. She seemed to cry much more easily these days and she silently cursed her hormones. Had he meant to say she was his _life_ or his _wife_? Somehow, the word he had actually used had a deeper impact on her than what she thought he might have meant to say. "I'm your…" she trailed off.

Smiling, Ron reached forward. "You're my _life_, Hermione. I can't truly live unless you're with me. We have to make it work. I'm not whole without you."

There was a catch in Hermione's throat. "I love you, Ron."

"We'll figure this out," he promised. "I'll come see you every night until we do."

"Promise?" she asked.

"I promise." Ron sat back on his heels, and picked up a champagne glass. "Now, drink your milk."

February blurred into March and Ron was as good as his word. He Flooed into the suite at Grimmauld Place every night without fail. Sometimes, when the Cannons had a long game, he was not able to make it until very late, but he still went, if just to make sure Hermione was sleeping comfortably. Often, she would sleep right through his visits, but he would always leave a little something letting her know he had been there.

Once it was a rose he had come across in a shop earlier in the day. The witch who owned the shop had placed a long-lasting spell on it and it was just as fresh and dewy when Hermione woke to it the next day, as though it had just been cut. Another time he left a book on the bedside table: _What to Call Your Little Witch or Wizard_. Still another, Ron had left a miniature orange jersey with the Chudley Cannons' logo on it and "Weasley" on the back.

During an early conversation on one of the nights before Hermione had fallen asleep, they had decided that Winky knew about Hermione's pregnancy.

"She's the one who brought me Mother Millicent's tea," she told him. "And, when I wake up in the morning there are always fresh crackers waiting for me to chew on before I get out of bed."

"Why?" asked Ron.

"For the morning sickness."

Ron now knew about morning sickness. He had pronounced it stupidly named, once he learned it did not always occur in the morning. In Hermione's case, for instance, it occurred at odd times throughout the day. She found that one moment she felt sick to her stomach and the next she was ravenous.

"How does that help?" he asked.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer and then paused. "You know," she said, "I don't actually know."

"You don't know?" Ron asked in amazement.

Shaking her head wonderingly, she said, "No. I don't."

Ron watched as she got up from the sofa and went to the dining table where she picked up a quill and made a note on a piece of parchment. "What's that?" he asked.

"I'm keeping a list," answered Hermione. "Whenever I have a question, I write it down to ask my Healer-midwife." She looked across the room at Ron. "You should come to one of my appointments and meet her."

Feeling his ears turn pink, Ron replied, "Do you really think that would be a good idea?"

Hermione stood up from her notes and gazed at Ron significantly. "Yes," she said, "I think the two of you should meet before the actual birth." She then gave him a long look before asking, "You will be there when the baby's born, won't you?"

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. To be honest, he had not thought about it. It suddenly dawned on him that both Bill and Fred had been in the rooms with their wives when the babies were born. "I, er, guess so."

Hands on hips, Hermione glared at Ron and he cringed. "You _guess_ so?" Her voice was a bit more shrill than normal and Ron knew he needed to tread carefully.

"Well, I mean, I hadn't actually thought about it." He shrugged.

"Why not?" demanded his wife, her eyes watering. It was all Ron could do to keep from rolling his own eyes. Hermione had informed him at some point over the past three weeks that her hormones were all over the place, and it left her more emotional than usual. It also meant that anything Ron did or said, was likely to be taken in the worst light possible.

Feeling a bit defensive, Ron said, "Because I haven't thought that far ahead, Hermione. At this point we still can't tell anyone and right now, I'm just worried about getting to that."

Hermione bit her lip. "Oh, Ron, I'm sorry." She returned to the sofa and sat down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm sure everything will be fine." Ron felt Hermione's tears begin to soak through his sleeve. He ignored the wetness as his wife continued. "We just can't be too careful, though."

Trying not to sigh at yet another sudden mood shift, Ron said, "I know. That's why I'm just focusing on the next few weeks."

Putting her hand on his chest, Hermione sighed. "The closer it gets, the more excited I become. I can't believe we're going to have a baby. We're going to be parents!"

Ron felt himself smile. Yeah. He was lost in a vision of a small Hermione—they had already argued endlessly about whether it would be a boy or girl—when Hermione said, "Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you get me a glass of water? I'm kind of thirsty."

Returning to the present, Ron blinked and said, "Uh, yeah. Sure." He got up and went to the table where there was usually a pitcher of water and two glasses. After glancing around and not finding them, Ron asked, "Is it in the bedroom?"

"I don't think so, but you can take a look."

A quick perusal of the bedroom did not reveal the pitcher and Ron realized he would have to go down to the kitchen. _Bloody hell,_ he thought. _I hate roaming the rest of this place._ One look at Hermione, though, and Ron sighed. If she wanted water, he would brave Grimmauld Place, and maybe Harry, to get it for her.

"I'll be right back," he said, hoping she wouldn't notice that he was checking to make sure he had his wand on him.

Hermione smiled up at him from the sofa and said, "I'll be here."

Ron made it down to the kitchen without incident. He knew he could have called Winky and asked her to get the water, but Hermione would have been annoyed. She could not avoid what Winky did on her own or on Harry's orders, but she hated, especially at that time of night, to disturb the house elf if they could do something for themselves.

After locating a pitcher and two glasses, which he quickly filled with water, Ron glanced around to see if there was something he could find to eat on the way up the stairs. He was careful with food around Hermione, but found himself hungry more often simply because he was afraid to eat anything in front of her in case it might make her sick.

He had just picked up some slices of bread, thinking they weren't likely to upset his wife's stomach, and put them on the tray next to the pitcher and glasses, when he heard the door behind him. Closing his eyes, he wondered at the likelihood that it could be Hermione, wanting to know what was taking him so long.

"You've been here a lot, lately," said a voice that was definitely not Hermione's.

Ron turned to face Harry. _Don't let him get to you_, he thought. "Yeah. So?"

"So nothing," said Harry, picking up a bottle of butterbeer and removing the top. "It was just an observation."

The two men stared at each other for a moment. Finally, Ron said, "I need to get this back upstairs." He had just turned back to the tray when Harry spoke.

"Are you back together?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Harry it was none of his business, but when Ron turned back to his former best friend, the expression on his face was not one of malice, but of concern.

"We're working on it," was all he ended up saying.

"Good," said Harry, "because she needs you." He pushed away from the counter he was leaning on and walked back to the stairs. As he opened the door, he called, "Good night, Ron."

Speechless, Ron stared at the door for two full minutes without moving. _What the bloody hell was that?_ he thought. _Harry was almost human!_

Finally, he shook himself free. Waving his wand at the tray, he said, "_Locomotor_ tray." The tray floated up in front of him, and Ron guided it out of the kitchen and up three flights of stairs.

When he entered the suite, Ron found Hermione sleeping softly on the sofa. He set the tray on the table and then went to her. "Hermione," he whispered, touching her shoulder. When she didn't respond, he shook her gently. Hermione continued sleeping and Ron straightened. He turned and went into the bedroom where he drew back the sheets on her side. Then he went back to the sitting room and very carefully lifted his wife in his arms and carried her to bed.

Hermione blinked in the sunlight that drifted in through the window. Rolling to her side she opened her eyes and looked around the bright bedroom. She smiled at the evidence of Ron everywhere: a shirt over a chair, some change he had tossed on the dresser the night before, his smell in the pillow next to her. It had been just over a month since she had told Ron about the baby and it seemed as though they were slowly coming back together, as though rifts were quietly healing.

He had been spending more and more time at Grimmauld Place and she found him leaving more of his things there. Reaching out to grab a cracker off the bedside table, she thought about how he had spent the night on a few occasions. In fact, it had been almost a week since he had returned to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes at the end of an evening. They had even shared the bed, and while they had only slept, Ron's presence beside her had brought Hermione comfort and a sense of rightness.

Nibbling on the cracker, she was glad it was Saturday and she would not have to go into work. She had been feeling a bit off. A few days earlier, at her last appointment, she had told Healer Morris that she had almost felt like she was having cramps. They had discussed that spotting and mild cramping were actually quite normal signs in early pregnancy and the Healer-midwife had told Hermione not to be overly concerned.

"Of course," she had continued, "if the symptoms persist or become more intense, I want you to contact me right away."

Hermione had nodded but felt relieved to hear it was normal, and when she had started spotting the day before, she had reminded herself of the Healer's words and felt reassured.

Finally out of crackers, Hermione got up and wandered into the sitting room. Here, Ron's renewed presence in her daily life was also apparent. There was an empty bottle of butterbeer on the mantle and his broom was tucked into a corner, while a muddy pair of shoes sat next to the fireplace.

She had known he would be gone by the time she awoke, as the Chudley Cannons were playing the Wimbourne Wasps today and there was always a lot for Ron to do in preparation for a match. A glance at the dining table, however, showed that he had left her a note, and she went to read it. She grimaced slightly and put her hand to her abdomen, blocking out a cramp as she read Ron's note.

_Good morning, sleepyhead, _

_Let's hope the Wasps catch the snitch quickly. I'd much prefer to be here with the two of you. _

_Love, R_

He had actually signed his name, but all that was legible was the "R" and Hermione smiled. He didn't even care if the Cannons lost, just so he could come home to her and the baby. Still grinning, she made her way to the shower to begin her day.

Hermione was in the shower when she was seized by a much stronger cramp than the one in the sitting room. She looked down and gasped when saw a stream of blood trickling down her leg. Turning off the water, she grabbed a towel and, after covering herself, ran to the fireplace to Floo Healer Morris.

Healer Morris listened carefully as Hermione described what was happening, and told Hermione to get to St. Mungo's as quickly as possible. "We just need to check and see what's going on," she said, reassuringly. "It's probably nothing, but we need to be sure."

Nodding, Hermione got up off the floor and rushed to get dressed. She was on her way out of the bedroom when Winky walked into the sitting room with breakfast. The house elf took one look at Hermione clutching her abdomen and banished the tray of food.

"Mistress Weasley!" cried Winky. "What is wrong with Mistress?"

"I just," Hermione started, trying not to panic now. "I need…" her voice trailed off as she looked up and saw Harry in the hallway. Her eyes started to water. "I need to leave Ron a note," she finally managed, and headed to the dining table.

She flipped Ron's note over and grabbed the quill next to it that he had used to leave her words of love while she was still sleeping. She quickly scribbled him a note telling him to meet her at St. Mungo's, and dropped the quill back on the table.

When she looked up, Harry was standing behind Winky in the doorway to the suite. "Hermione?" he asked, his green eyes worried.

She shook her head. "I need to go," she whispered and quickly made her way to the fireplace.

Ron grimaced at the sight of the Cannons' Seeker. Devon Mack's face was covered in blood and his nose was three times its normal size. He had taken a Bludger to the face just before managing to catch the Snitch. The Beater for the Wasps had evidently thought the Bludger would prevent Mack from catching the small golden ball, but he had been wrong. In the end, though, it didn't matter because the Wasps still won. Standing to the side in the Cannons' locker room, Ron listened absent-mindedly as Wally Wervin, his face bright red and his cigar trailing ashes as he emphasized his points with slashing hand movements, raged at the team, ignoring the Seeker's mashed face.

Sighing, Ron wished Wervin would finish his rant and let them go. The game had been a long one and he really wanted to get home to Hermione. He smiled at this thought. Things had improved greatly with his wife. He had even been spending the nights with her, and now he could not imagine returning to the flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for any reason other than to gather what few of his belongings remained there.

They had begun to discuss how to tell their respective families about the baby, now that the time was getting closer. Ron felt they should have Hermione's family over to the Burrow on a Sunday after the weekly visit to Ginny and they could have a celebration. Hermione felt they should just let it be known to people as they came into contact with them.

"Weasley!"

Ron jumped and all pleasant thoughts of Hermione and the baby were shoved to the back of his mind. "Yes, sir," he said, from his place leaning against a wall.

"First thing Monday morning, I want you to begin scouting new Seekers! We need someone who's going to know when it's NOT time to catch the Snitch and end the game!"

Avoiding Mack's expression, Ron replied, "Yes, sir."

"That's it!" yelled Wervin, as a button popped off his robes. "Get out of here! All of you! I don't want to see your ugly faces again until you remember just how Quidditch _should_ be played!" The team dispersed under the angrily waving arms of its owner.

Pushing himself away from the wall, Ron went straight to the fireplace. He couldn't _wait_ to get home.

The minute Ron stepped out of the fireplace in the sitting room at Grimmauld Place, he knew something was wrong. For one thing, it was too quiet. For another, dark had fallen outside and there was no light anywhere. Holding his wand out in front of him, Ron muttered, "_Lumos_." He waved the wand in front of him and looked around the sitting room. He almost passed over the note on the dining table, but some instinct told him to give it another look.

Holding his lighted wand out over the parchment he read Hermione's hastily scrawled note. "Merlin's beard," he muttered before returning to the fireplace. It seemed like forever before he stepped out of the fireplace at St. Mungo's.

He was greeted by a bored voice that informed him visiting hours were over.

"My wife," he said, "Hermione Weasley. She came here today."

The reception witch checked her records. "Maternity ward," she said. "But visiting hours are over, Mr. Weasley. You'll just have to come back tomorrow."

"Like hell!" he bellowed, and the witch looked up in surprise. "You'll tell me where I can find the maternity ward, _now_!"

After a brief pause, the witch said, "Ward twenty-three," and pointed him in the right direction.

Ron ran down the halls of the hospital, ignoring various Healers and assistant Healers who were outraged by his behavior. He finally skidded to a halt in front of a pair of doors that read, "Ward Twenty-Three, Maternity." He took several deep breaths before putting a hand out and pushing the door open.

There was a large desk in front of him with two witches sitting behind it. One of them looked up at his approach. At first she had the same disapproving look on her face that the reception witch on the ground floor had had. As Ron got closer, though, her expression softened as she realized he was a father filled with fear.

"Can I help you?" asked the witch softly.

"My wife," said Ron. "She was brought here today. I wasn't home, I don't know…" his voice trailed off.

"What is her name, dear?" prompted the witch.

"Hermione," he said, quickly glancing down at parchment resting on top of the desk, thinking maybe it held some answers. "Hermione Weasley."

The witch turned away and checked a different parchment. "Ah," she said as she turned back to Ron. "Mr. Weasley, why don't you have a seat in that room over there," she indicated an open doorway to the left of the desk area. "I'm going to have your wife's Healer come and speak to you."

"I want to see my wife," Ron insisted.

"Yes, I understand," answered the witch gently, "but you should speak to Healer Morris first." When Ron did not budge, she held out her arm to again indicate the room, "It will just be a moment, Mr. Weasley, and then you can see your wife."

Realizing he was not going to get any further information from the witch about Hermione's whereabouts, Ron, dragging his feet, went to the room she was pointing to. At first, Ron sat down in one of the chairs covered in bright orange faux dragon hide. The stillness, however, was too much for him to bear and he got up. After standing motionless for a moment, he walked to the window and stared out into the darkness.

Ron's mind was filled with all sorts of images of bad things having happened to Hermione. Maybe Harry had hit her with another jinx, maybe he should have allowed her to move to Diagon Alley when she had brought it up, maybe this whole thing was just too much stress and more than she could handle. He had no doubt, since he was standing in the maternity ward, that there was something wrong with the baby, and his insides knotted as the wait to see the Healer lengthened. _Please,_ he thought, _let Hermione and the baby be all right. Please, I'll do anything._

At the sound of a soft footfall behind him, Ron turned and was momentarily confused to see George's Gwendolyn standing in the doorway. She was looking at him with compassion on her face and it suddenly became clear why she was there.

"You're Hermione's Healer?"

Nodding, Gwendolyn replied, "Yes." She indicated the orange chairs, "Ron, let's sit."

Mutely, Ron made his way over to the chairs and did as he was told. Gwendolyn sat beside him. "Ron," she said quietly, "Hermione's had a miscarriage."

Ron closed his eyes and felt tears slip from beneath the lids and down his cheeks. "Is she okay," he finally managed.

"She'll be fine. She's resting comfortably, now."

"What happened?"

"I think it started a few days ago," said Gwendolyn. "She had some cramping, but that can be very normal in early pregnancy, so we weren't too worried. It grew stronger this morning and she was bleeding. The miscarriage was well underway when she got here and we gave her some potions to help her along."

"There was no way to stop it?" asked Ron.

Shaking her head, Gwendolyn replied, "No, I'm sorry. Sometimes nature just has to take its course."

"Why?" Ron demanded, starting to feel angry. "Why did it happen?"

"Miscarriage is not exactly uncommon, Ron. There are a lot of things that could go wrong with the development of the cells and it's almost impossible to know the exact cause."

"Could it be stress?" Ron asked. "We'd been having a hard time until recently. Could that have done it?"

"I doubt it," said Gwendolyn. "It's just one of those unfortunate things. There's no reason you and Hermione can't try again in a few months."

There was a pause and Ron tried to take it all in. "It's nobody's fault?" he asked.

"No, Ron. It's nobody's fault."

Ron nodded and sniffed. "Can I see her?" he asked. "I just want to see Hermione."

Gwendolyn nodded. "Of course. I'll show you to her room."

They stood up and Ron wiped his nose on his sleeve before following Gwendolyn from the little room and down the hall to see his wife.

Hermione lay on her side in the darkened hospital room. Despite a sleeping potion that had been administered to her a few hours earlier, she was wide awake. She sniffed and bit her lip to keep from crying again.

She had been greeted at St. Mungo's by Healer Morris who had quickly taken her to an exam room. A number of diagnostic spells later, the Healer had regretfully informed Hermione that she was miscarrying. "I'm so sorry," she had said. "But we'll help you through it."

Hermione had been moved to another, more comfortable room, and given a series of potions. She knew one of them had been for pain, but the cramping was still intense. Throughout it all, she had cried and wished for Ron. Healer Morris had sent someone to try and reach him at the Cannons' stadium, but they had been unsuccessful.

As daylight had dissipated, they had told her that the worst was over, the miscarriage complete. She thought it appropriate that her child was gone as the day ended. Her Healer-midwife told her they would keep her overnight for observation, and that she should get some rest.

She sniffed again as she thought of Ron. How could she tell him she had lost their baby? How could she tell him it was gone and that she had failed him? She had failed them both.

Hermione heard a soft knock on the door behind her. She did not bother to respond. The door opened and she heard a soft whispering, followed by the footsteps of someone trying to be quiet. The person sat gently down on the bed and just as he put his hand on her shoulder, she caught a whiff of his scent. _Ron_.

She turned and sat up as he said her name. "Oh, Ron," Hermione sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

Ron's arms enveloped her and she buried her face in his chest. She vaguely heard him say, "Don't be sorry, Hermione. I'm the one who's sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."

Wrapping her arms around her husband, Hermione finally allowed herself the luxury of tears. She had worked so hard at holding them back all day, so that she could fully concentrate on what was happening and maybe find out why. She had paid close attention, but never did discern the why.

Now, Ron was here, and she could give in to her tears, and maybe, just maybe, the why was not quite as important. "I love you, Ron," she muttered into his jumper. "I love you."

Ron stroked her hair and replied, "I love you, Hermione, more than anything. And I'll never leave you again."


	15. Chapter 15 Dawn

Chapter XV

Chapter XV

Dawn

Hermione lay on her side, staring at the wall. Judging by the angle of the sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains on the window, she figured it to be early afternoon. She had been lying in bed doing nothing for the better part of the day.

About a week after she lost the baby, Hermione insisted on going back to work. She claimed she did not need any extra time, and what would help her most would be to get back into her old routines. Ron had fought her mildly, but gave in as she had expected he would.

Work was not the problem. It _did_ help her to have her routines back and to be working at something important that could keep her mind off, well, unpleasant subjects. It was the evenings and weekends she was having trouble with.

After work, Hermione found it difficult to spend time with Ron, or anyone else really, and she would claim fatigue and go straight to bed after dinner. Sometimes she fell asleep right away, but most of the time, she found herself simply staring at the walls and trying to come to grips with it all. Sometimes, she could hear Ron sniffling in the sitting room.

Hermione knew Ron was hurting, that he felt the loss of the baby almost as greatly as she did. But she felt he could not completely understand what she was going through. Hermione rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Her right hand automatically made its way to her lower abdomen and she felt the loss anew. She felt so…bereft. Such a short time ago, there had been a baby inside of her, but now…nothing. Ron could never understand how that felt.

She huffed and rolled onto her other side, tucking her arm under her pillow and resting her head on her wrist. She felt tears prick her eyes briefly, but then they were gone.

That was her other problem. She found herself unable to cry. There was just a lonely, barren feeling inside of her that gnawed at her. It was like a hole that couldn't be filled, but couldn't be dug any deeper, either. She had cried in the hospital the night of the miscarriage, but ever since then, nothing. The thing was, she often felt like crying. Whenever she thought of the baby, she wanted to cry, but the tears just would not come. Perhaps she had cried herself out that night with Ron. Perhaps the fact that Ron was clearly having no trouble expressing his emotions, made her feel she ought not to give in to hers. She did not know. Instead, she found herself just drifting from day to day until they were sliding by without her even really being aware of it.

She often thought about what Ron had said to her that night: _I'll never leave you again._ It had been a reassurance she had desperately needed, but now her argumentative mind continued to rail against the fact that he had left her at all, and she found herself feeling angry with her husband for nothing and absolutely everything: the way he held a spoon, for instance; or how he hogged the bed, his giant limbs all over the place, including her; the fact that _he_ could cry.

There was a whooshing noise from the sitting room and Hermione knew Ron had finally left. It was Sunday. Ron would be off to the Burrow to gather with his family for the weekly visit to Ginny and then back to the Burrow for dinner. For the past few weeks he had asked her to join him, finally giving up the previous Sunday when she had yelled at him that she didn't want to spend her day in a dreary hospital visiting someone who was never going to get well, and following that up with a meal during which everyone would recount the visit in minute detail. She told him she thought these Sundays were morbid, and they should just give up on his sister.

Ron had been shocked, as she had known he would be. She had hoped he would yell back at her, his constant solicitude another thing that was driving her mad, but he had simply apologized for troubling her, told her he still believed in Ginny, and was there anything she would like while he was out?

Hermione knew how the Weasley family felt about Ginny, and that they needed to keep the hope of her one day coming out of this catatonic state she was in. She knew her words had been hurtful, but what was even worse for her was the idea of spending an afternoon at the Burrow and seeing the young children. Fleur's older son was three and a half now, and doted on his months-old baby brother, Etienne. Fred and Angelina's son had recently celebrated his first birthday. Just the thought of being around these little ones while her own was gone was more than she could bear.

With Ron gone for the day, Hermione knew she could just lie there and not worry about anyone troubling her. Two weeks earlier, she had been engaged in another of her favorite pastimes, sitting on the sofa and staring into the flames in the fireplace, when Winky had come in to tidy up the dinner dishes. The house elf had tsked at Hermione and told her it was time for her to get up and about and stop moping around all the time. Outraged, Hermione had yelled at Winky and told her not to bother coming into the suite any more. She and Ron were more than capable of cleaning it and bringing the dishes down to the kitchen themselves. Since then, Winky had been leaving Ron and Hermione's meals outside the door for them, and Ron had taken to carrying their dishes downstairs when they were done.

He was also trying to clean the suite the best he could, but there was a fine layer of dust over most things and Hermione had developed a habit of just tossing things and letting them lie where they landed. Ron quietly picked up after her and returned things to where they belonged, but Hermione had discovered it was somewhat pleasing to throw things around and watch Ron pick them up. As a result of this, Ron spent what time he was home tidying up after his wife and trying to keep their living space at least somewhat respectable.

Hermione kicked the covers off of her. She kept kicking until the sheets and blankets all lay in a rumpled mess on the floor. She then rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. With Ron not around to annoy for the rest of the day, there was simply no point in getting out of bed.

Ron stood outside the back door of the Burrow and watched Alaric toddle around on his chubby little legs. His nephew had recently discovered the joys of getting around on his own two feet and took every opportunity to do so. Fred had claimed the toddler was quickly wearing his father out, something the rest of the family was quick to praise the little boy for.

The family had recently returned from their weekly visit to Ginny where they had talked to her rocking and staring form, and received no response to their words. It was disheartening to see his sister like this, week after week, month after month. The whole time Ron had been in the room with his sister, his wife's harsh words from the week before had been taunting him in his head. Maybe Hermione was right. Maybe Ginny would never leave the room at St. Mungo's. As soon as Ron thought this, he wondered if Hermione would ever leave their bedroom to go anywhere other than her job at the Ministry. As he had watched Ginny's vacant eyes gazing at something only she could see, Ron felt that Hermione was becoming just as much a prisoner of her own mind as Ginny was.

Alaric caught a toe on an uneven patch of grass and stumbled. He plopped onto his padded little bottom with a startled expression on his face. Ron watched his nephew look around. Pretending to be looking at something else, he saw Alaric realize that no one was paying attention, then get back up on his feet without uttering a sound. Ron grinned. He knew there would have been a great deal of noise from Alaric if he had thought he could get some sympathy out of it.

"Oi, Ricky!" Ron called to his nephew and held out his arms. With a big grin, Alaric started toward him.

"Ron," Angelina called from the kitchen window, "You know I hate it when you call him that!"

"Sorry," Ron called back, not really sorry at all. Alaric was such a mouthful and his nephew looked much more like a Ricky. When the little boy was close enough, Ron scooped him up in his arms and tweaked his chin. "You don't mind being called 'Ricky,' do you?" he asked playfully.

Alaric put his hand up to cup his uncle's chin, trying to imitate him. Ron pretended to try and bite the little fingers and his nephew laughed. Watching the little boy's merriment made Ron wonder how his own child would have looked. Would he have been like Hermione in appearance? Would he have been as ready to laugh as Alaric or, as his mother's child, consider all the options before reacting to a given situation? How old would he have been when he first walked, older than Alaric who had been eleven months, or would he have found his feet sooner? Ron thought about these things and knew that Hermione must have also thought about them many times in the past month and a half. He knew it must be harder for her since she was the one carrying the baby and going through the miscarriage. He just wished he could find a way to help her to heal. Ron was finding it here, at the Burrow, with his family. He wished he knew what would help Hermione.

Ron smiled as Alaric grabbed his nose. "What are you doing there, huh?" he asked, and Alaric laughed.

Looking across the garden, Ron saw Bill holding Etienne in his arms. Girard was at his father's heels as they walked toward the house, with Bill listening carefully to his older son. Fleur met them at the door and took the baby from her husband. _I want that,_ thought Ron_. I want that. But first, I need to find my wife again._

It was late in the evening when Ron finally returned to Grimmauld Place. He had taken to Apparating outside the back door of the house and walking up to the suite, rather than just Flooing into the sitting room. He found he needed that little bit of additional time climbing the steps to prepare himself for what lay waiting for him.

Ron opened the back door to the kitchen and stepped inside. At first the room seemed dark and quiet, but as he looked around, Ron saw that there was a lamp on the kitchen table, and sitting in front of it was Harry. Running a hand over his face, Ron thought, _This is the last thing I need tonight. _

Just then Harry looked up from the book he was reading and his eyes met Ron's. "Back from the Burrow?" Harry asked.

Ron nodded. Despite Harry's bloody rules—which included never being told anything about the world outside Grimmauld Place—he always seemed to know exactly what was going on.

"Good time?"

"I guess," said Ron, reluctant to add more as he was still never sure when Harry might be trying to set him up. Harry had been a bit easier to live with since Ron had moved back in, but he still found himself always on his guard. "Excuse me," he added, starting toward the door that led upstairs.

He had almost made it to the door, when Harry's next words stopped him cold. "She lost the baby, then?"

Ron's hand was on the doorknob and he clutched it tightly as he slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder. How could Harry have known? Like Ron had confided in Bill, had Hermione confided in Harry? Had they both broken their rule about not talking about the pregnancy too soon?

The expression on Harry's face caught Ron by surprise. He thought he must be imagining the concern he saw there. "What are you talking about?"

"The baby," Harry said bluntly. "Did Hermione lose the baby?"

There was silence as Ron tried to not only figure out how Harry could have known, but what his course of action should be. Should he continue the conversation and admit to Harry, of all people, what had happened, or should he just mumble some nonsense words and go upstairs? "How—?" he finally began.

A faint smile appeared on Harry's face. "Winky certainly wasn't buying Mother Millicent's Mother-to-be Tea for me."

Ron thought about that for a moment before nodding in agreement and loosening his grip on the doorknob. He turned to Harry and asked, "But, how do know about the miscarriage?"

"I was sitting here when Winky threw the tea away. Apparently, Hermione ordered her out of the suite and told her not to return and Winky had a little tantrum with the tin while shaking the leaves out into the bin."

Sighing, Ron just said, "Yeah. She lost the baby." The words were unnecessary, but if felt good to actually say them.

He had told Bill, of course, and his brother had nodded knowingly and clapped a hand on Ron's shoulder. Bill had asked if there was anything he could do and Ron had shaken his head. "Well," Bill had finally said, "if you find we can help you or Hermione in any way, just ask." At the time, the wound was still raw and startlingly painful, and Ron had not wanted to talk about it.

"She's taking it hard?" Harry's voice brought Ron back to the kitchen, and he focused on his former friend.

"Yeah," he nodded. Taking a deep breath, Ron continued. "And I don't know what to do about it."

The two men looked at each other for a moment. Harry picked his wand up off the table top and, while Ron was still reaching for his own wand in a knee-jerk reaction to suddenly seeing Harry holding his, he summoned two bottles of mead from across the room. Grabbing the bottles in mid-air, Harry set one down across the table from himself, while he opened the other bottle. It took Ron a moment to realize that Harry was inviting him to sit down and talk, actually _talk_, to him.

Slowly, Ron put his wand away and walked across the room to the table. He sat down opposite Harry and picked up the bottle of mead. He opened it, took a swig and then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Thank you," he said.

"No problem," Harry replied.

They sat in silence, Ron unsure of what to say. It had been so long since he'd had a conversation with Harry, he was not sure he could remember how to get one started. He took another gulp of mead.

Harry finally broke the silence. "Winky says Hermione never comes out of the suite."

"She goes to work," said Ron. "But that's it. I don't know how she even gets through a day there. When she's home, she just lies in bed or on the sofa all day. The only time she speaks to me anymore is to yell at me."

Harry smirked, "You should be used to the yelling by now."

Grimacing, Ron replied, "It's different, this kind of yelling. It's not like the way we usually argue. In fact, we aren't arguing at all. She just finds fault with everything, and it's like she's looking for the most hurtful thing she can say." After taking another sip from the bottle, he continued. "It wasn't like this at first. After it first happened, she was just really quiet, but we were able to at least sit together and hold each other. Now, well, it's like she hates the very sight of me."

"She's hurting," said Harry thoughtfully.

"Of course she's hurting!" snapped Ron. "Do you think I don't know that? Do you think she's the only one?"

Harry looked startled. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to offend. I'm just trying to think of something that might make Hermione not hurt anymore. I guess I was just thinking aloud."

Ron felt his anger cool, and he finally replied, "It's okay. It's just, well, it's been really hard."

They were both thoughtful for a moment and then Harry said, "I'm sorry you lost your child."

Trying not to let on that his eyes were starting to water, Ron managed a quiet thank you, and then took another pull on the bottle of mead in an effort to hide his emotions.

"So, what can we do to try and help Hermione?" Harry mused. Ron snorted in reply and was surprised when Harry suddenly said, "I know! Books!"

Shaking his head, Ron said, "No. It won't work. I've brought a few things home, and she won't even look at them. She tossed two of them into the fire after barely a glance at the titles. It's like she doesn't want to be helped, even by books."

"But," said Harry in dismay, "they're _books_! Surely Hermione would never _burn_ them?"

"I'm telling you, she did."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry said, "That's just not natural."

"You're telling me."

Harry and Ron sat drinking in silence for several minutes before Harry said, "This is going to take some serious thought."

Ron snorted in reply. Like he hadn't already been wracking his brains to come up with something, _anything_, that might reach his wife. He looked over at Harry and said, "Let me know what you come up with."

"I will," Harry replied. "I want to help you and Hermione. After everything you've been through, you two deserve to be happy."

"My mum used to say, 'we make our own happiness.'"

Harry thought a minute and then said, "In a lot of ways I agree with that, but sometimes a person needs a little help, a small shove if you will."

"Well, if you think of a good way to shove Hermione, I'd like to hear it." Ron put his empty bottle on the table and stood up. "Until then, I think I should get upstairs and check on her."

Harry nodded and said, "If you need anything, Ron, let me know."

Ron gazed at Harry in surprise. It was like this Harry was almost completely different from the one he and Hermione had moved in with last summer. He had not cursed anyone in ages, he wasn't slamming things around, he was quieter and more considerate. Maybe Hermione had been right. Maybe having the two of them there had actually helped their friend. _And,_ thought Ron, _maybe he is our friend again._

To Harry, Ron simply said, "Thank you."

Hermione was feeling restless. Even though it was Saturday, Ron had gone in to work. He had told her what the reason was, but she had not cared and not listened. It had been hours since he had left and she did not feel like lying in bed anymore.

She got up and padded into the sitting room where she aimlessly roamed the room. The dining table was still covered with the dishes from Ron's breakfast and she scowled. _He should have taken those away before he left,_ she fumed. Anger suddenly took hold of her, and she noisily stacked the plates, picked them up, and stalked to the door. She flung it open and took two steps to the top of the stairs where she heaved the plates over the banister. They sailed down to the ground floor where they landed with a crash.

A door opened somewhere, and she knew Harry or Winky was investigating the sound. Turning she stomped back into the sitting room and slammed the door.

Inside, she gazed around at the mess she had made over the past several weeks that Ron had tried to keep up with. "Not good enough," she said aloud.

She started by going to the sofa and grabbing the cushions, which she flung about the room. Next, she grabbed the tablecloth off the dining table and pulled. The candlesticks her great aunt Ethel had given them went flying and landed on the floor, the crystal shattering into a thousand pieces. Bits of parchment and newspaper were scattered and a bottle of ink tumbled onto the floor where the top fell off and the ink began to ooze across the wood.

Behind the table were two stacks of boxes that had been charmed into miniature sizes, and Hermione ran back into the bedroom for her wand. Once back in the sitting room with her wand in hand, she returned the boxes to their normal size and they crowded against the dining table. She dropped the wand, and proceeded to open each box and fling its contents haphazardly around the room. Soon she was surrounded by the noise of loud thunks, as each of her prized books hit the walls and then dropped to the floor.

When every box was empty she paused and looked around. The resultant mess felt almost exhilarating to her. Without realizing it, she was smiling for the first time since the miscarriage. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so full of energy.

After a bit more work in the sitting room, Hermione made her way into the bedroom, to repeat the process. She tore the bed apart, and ripped the curtains from the windows, before making her way to the dresser, where she emptied the drawers and threw their contents into the air. The drawer itself was then tossed across the room.

She was down to the last drawer when she felt something under Ron's socks. Tossing the socks over her shoulder, she paused when she saw a small box. Taking a moment, she opened it and saw the pocket watch she had given to Ron for their wedding. The gold Quidditch players across the front glittered at her as she opened the cover. She gazed at the two hands on the inside: one pointed at "Home," and the other at "Work."

Hermione saw a slip of parchment in the bottom of the box and reached out for it. In Ron's writing were the words, _To add extra hands_, and the address of the jeweler in Diagon Alley where Hermione had gotten the watch.

Dropping slowly down to the floor, Hermione remembered when she had found the shop, and Ron's gift. Staring at the watch, she allowed her mind to drift back to that day.

The shop was very small and almost hidden. Hermione had spent weeks unsuccessfully trying to think of just the right thing for Ron, and then almost as much time wandering Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley hoping to be inspired. The wedding was very near, and she was beginning to feel desperate as she walked the streets of Diagon Alley for the fifth time. None of the shop windows had anything new, and nothing caught her eye.

It was dusk when she came across a tiny street she had previously ignored, thinking there would not be any suitable shops on it. This time, though, she reckoned she had nothing to lose, and turned down the small lane. There were some shuttered shops, and the few that were open did not appear to sell anything suitable for a wedding gift for one's future husband.

At the end of the lane, Hermione reluctantly turned around when a small glow caught her eye. It came from the window of one of the shops she had thought closed. _Well, I have to walk by it anyway,_ she thought as she headed toward it. The sign above the worn door read "Munchin's Jewelry and Unique Gifts." Thinking that sounded promising, Hermione tried the door, and found it opened easily.

Inside the shop there was a series of shelves to the left that held what Hermione surmised were the "Unique Gifts," though all she really saw were an assortment of oddly shaped and sized lumps. Across from her and on the far right of the shop were jewelry cases that looked as though they had more than a decade's worth of dust accumulated on them. She was not able to tell if there was anything inside of them.

Hermione was sighing in disappointment. Clearly there was nothing of interest here. She was just about to turn back to the door when she heard a voice call to her.

"Good evening, young lady."

Looking up, she saw a small, rather round man had appeared behind the display cases opposite from where she stood. He had a bald spot on the top of his head and was wearing a jovial smile as he looked at her. Wearing old, rather worn brown robes, he immediately put Hermione in mind of Friar Tuck, of _Robin Hood_ fame.

"Good evening," she replied.

"And how may I help you, my dear?"

"Well," Hermione said as she took a small step forward. "I'm looking for a gift."

"Ah," said the shopkeeper, "then I do believe you've come to the right place. What kind of gift are you seeking?"

"A wedding gift. It's for my soon-to-be husband."

"Well, well then, do come and let me show you some items that might suit."

Hermione approached the case the wizard was standing behind and he held out his hand, "I am Mr. Munchin," he said. "I am the proprietor of this shop, and you may turn me into a Nargle—only for a day, mind—if you do not find what you're looking for here."

At the mention of a Nargle, Hermione gave Mr. Munchin an odd look. "But, Nargles don't exist," she said.

"It's all in what you believe, my dear. Now, tell me about your soon-to-be husband. Other than capital taste in witches, what are some of the things he likes?"

"Well, Quidditch. He works for the Chudley Cannons," she started.

"Quidditch! Excellent. Too bad about the Cannons, though. Does he play?"

"Not professionally. He likes to play with his brothers, but he actually works as the assistant to the owner."

"Ah, very good. He plays with his brothers, does he? And how many does he have?"

"Five," Hermione answered without thinking. She blinked, shook her head and then added, "Well, four now."

Mr. Munchin nodded knowingly. "Lost one in the war, did he. A shame that."

"Yes."

"Close to his family, though?"

Hermione nodded, unsure of where all these questions were leading, yet she felt an odd compulsion to answer Mr. Munchin as honestly and thoughtfully as possible.

"And what about you, my dear? Are you close to your family?"

"Not as much anymore. My parents and a cousin, sort of, but they don't really understand my world."

"Muggles are they?" Mr. Munchin was nodding knowingly.

"Yes."

"Well, my dear, don't you worry. My mother was a Muggle, but she loved her family just the same. Family loves us for what we are and, even, what we aren't. There may be times when they don't understand us, but they always love us. Much like your young man loves you."

Hermione smiled. "Yes," she said. "I know exactly what you mean."

"Now," Mr. Munchin drew himself up to his full height, which was about equal to Hermione's, and said, "I think I might have exactly what you're looking for in that case over there."

Looking down at the case directly in front of her, Hermione was unable to see anything through the filthy glass. She gazed at the case Mr. Munchin was gesturing toward and wondered how she would see anything in it, either, as it appeared to be just as dirty. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, Hermione went to the case he was indicating. To her surprise she was able to see through it quite clearly.

The case was lined in red velvet and held just a few things. There were a couple of robe chains, but she knew Ron would never use one; he was much happier having as little adornment on his robes as possible. Next to the chains were a few rings that were a bit ornate and, Hermione thought, gaudy. Continuing her perusal, she saw a couple of wristwatches that did not look like Ron at all. She was about to give up and apologize to Mr. Munchin for not seeing anything, when something a bit shinier than the other items in the case caught her eye. In fact, as she looked at it, she didn't know how it could possibly have escaped her notice upon immediate inspection of the case.

"May I see that?" she asked, pointing to a round object in the corner of the case.

"Of course, my dear!"

Mr. Munchin reached into the case and removed a gold pocketwatch with Quidditch players flying on the cover. Hermione smiled, thinking it was perfect. She opened the case and her mouth formed a little 'O.'

After a moment of silence, during which Hermione simply stared at the watch, Mr. Munchin asked, "So, what do you think?"

"I think it's perfect," she whispered. "Absolutely perfect."

"Rare, that kind of a watch," Mr. Munchin said, taking it from her. "Only a few of them still exist nowadays. The watchmaker, Jens Otto, made some actual clocks like this, as well. Only seven of them are still known in the Wizarding world today."

She had known the Weasley clock was rare, but not that rare. With the words rushing out of her mouth, as though someone else might say them first, Hermione blurted, "I'll take it!"

"Excellent! I'll have this ready for you in, say a week?" Without waiting for Hermione to answer, he continued, "And so you know, new hands can be added as the family grows. Just bring the watch in and I'll take care of it."

Hermione blushed and said, "Even better."

Hermione's anger disappeared as quickly as it came on. She sat there staring at the watch and the piece of parchment. Clutching the watch to her, she suddenly jumped up. The box and parchment fell to the floor as she started rummaging through the clothes strewn about the room. She managed to find a pair of jeans and grabbed a Chudley Cannons jersey of Ron's and hastily changed out of her faded pink pajamas. Once dressed, Hermione stuffed the watch in her pocket and began looking for shoes and the handbag she used whenever she went into the Muggle world. She was going to need some money.

Ron sighed and massaged the back of his neck. The statistics on the reports in front of him were starting to blur. He wondered how much longer Mr. Wervin was going to keep him, as the afternoon was growing to a close. Frowning, he decided it really didn't matter. Whether at the office or at home, the day would be long and tedious.

Shuffling the parchment in front of him, Ron tried to focus his vision and his mind. He was rereading the numbers on Guildford Hackett and wondering how the man could have gone from a top player with the Wimbourne Wasps to the worst player of the league after joining the Cannons, when his boss strode into the room.

"This team is the worst I've ever owned!" Wally Wervin announced to the room in general and Ron in particular. "I don't understand it!" He threw up his hands and glared down at Ron, who continued to sit quietly at his desk. "I spend Galleons on the best players and when they get here they behave like Muggles who have never even _heard_ of Quidditch!" He put his hands on the edge of Ron's desk, leaned down and glowered. "I've got the best strategist in the Wizarding world as my personal assistant, and for all his brilliant ideas and plays and suggestions, WE STILL LOSE!"

Much like Hermione would do, Ron bit his lip. He did not know what to say and a joke felt a bit inappropriate, so he strategized that his best move at the moment would be to keep quiet.

Wally Wervin sighed, and stood up. "It's not your fault, Weasley. Don't think I'm blaming you. I honestly believe this team has been cursed."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Ron quietly.

Mr. Wervin waved his cigar in Ron's direction. "Nothing to be sorry for. Maybe I should follow this curse idea, though. Hire a cursebreaker and see if something can be done from that quarter. In for a Sickle, in for a Galleon, you know."

Ron didn't speak. He did not think it would be a good idea to mention that he had a brother who was an excellent cursebreaker. Why drag Bill into the woes of the Cannons? Besides, he supported the Falmouth Falcons, and that was a definite conflict of interest.

"Oh, go on home, Weasley. There's no point in you staying any longer today."

"Are you sure, sir?"

"I'm sure." Mr. Wervin walked into his office, and Ron stood up from his desk. He was not sure he was looking forward to a long night with Hermione's silences that were only broken by her heavy sighs of dissatisfaction, but sitting on the sofa would be much more comfortable than sitting at his desk.

With a quick stop in Diagon Alley for the latest _Quidditch Monthly_, Ron arrived back in Grimmauld Place to find a slightly agitated Harry standing in the middle of the kitchen waiting for him.

"What?"

"Your wife is in a temper," said Harry. "I thought I ought to warn you." Ron shrugged and Harry continued. "No, really Ron. She threw dishes over the banister, and after that we heard all sorts of crashes from the suite."

Ron's expression grew wary and he looked from Harry to Winky, who was standing near the stove with an expression of annoyance on her face. "Mistress is breaking the _good_ dishes, Master Weasley!"

"Brilliant," sighed Ron, closing his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, he looked at Harry and Winky and said, "I guess I'd better go see what's going on."

Harry and Winky followed at a distance as Ron walked up the stairs. He paused for a moment in front of the door to the suite, but there was only silence from within. "Hermione?" he called. There was no response.

With a quick glance at those behind him, Ron reached out and opened the door. "Merlin's beard!"

"Is it safe?" called Harry.

"I don't know," said Ron with an expression of shock on his face. Then, with a scowl he looked at Harry, who was approaching for his own look into the room. "And you're one to ask, you know."

"I've always been more afraid of her, than she has of me, you know," Harry replied as he peered around the door for a peek into the room. His mouth dropped open. "Blimey!"

Both men were still standing on the threshold staring in wonderment at the mess that Hermione had created in the sitting room when they heard an indignant shriek from knee level. Winky had taken one look at the disaster and was having what could only be categorized as a tantrum. She stomped into the room, which was not easy, as the floor was nowhere to be found under all of the detritus Hermione had flung to the far corners. She snapped her fingers and an assortment of books, crystal shards and other odds and ends flew off of the couch and the cushions replaced themselves.

"It will take Winky at least an _hour_ to clean all this up!" she shouted, as she righted the dining table.

"Think we should help her?" asked Harry.

"Think she'll let us?" replied Ron.

They stared at each other for a moment and then stepped into the room, and started picking up books. They were both holding a large stack and looking for somewhere to put them, when Harry said, "I had no idea you two had so many books. Where are you keeping them all?"

"They're Hermione's," said Ron, adding a red leather volume of _Kashmir Kendrick's Encyclopedia of Witches and Wizards From 282 B.C._

"So," questioned Harry wryly, "this copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ belongs to Hermione?"

Ron looked over to see a familiar and somewhat tattered book in Harry's hand. "No, that would be mine. But, most of the rest of them belong to her. She had them packed in crates and then shrunk them. We had the crates stacked over in the corner."

Harry froze. "I've just had a bloody brilliant idea!"

"What?"

"A library."

Ron snorted. "I think libraries were someone else's invention."

"No, Ron. A library. Here at Grimmauld Place"

"What?"

Harry gestured to the fireplace. "The next two rooms could be converted. We could put a door there, next to the fireplace, and Hermione could have a library for all her books. She could sit in there to read and she wouldn't have to search through small crates to find something whenever she's struck by an idea."

"Something tells me that she wasn't searching for a book when she made this mess."

"Probably not, but don't you think she'd love to have someplace other than shrunken crates to keep her books?"

Ron felt himself warming to the idea. "Well, yeah. It would be a bit more organized and less cluttered."

"Exactly!" Harry grinned, obviously quite pleased with himself.

"You'd do that? Give up two rooms for a library?"

"Of course I would. I'd do anything to make Hermione happy again. What's better than books?"

Feeling a bit dejected, Ron looked at the books stacked in his arms. Why hadn't he had the idea? Why wasn't he the one who could provide his wife with a library of her own? It seemed all Ron had done was make Hermione miserable in one way or another.

"Ron?"

"Fine," said Ron, sending the books in his arms into one of the crates. "It's a great idea." He walked into the bedroom to see what chaos it held, and to get away from Harry.

He shook his head at the mess and stepped carefully through it to the mattress, which he proceeded to put back on the bed. He was scooping clothes up in his arms and tossing them on the bed to sort, when he looked up and saw Harry standing in the doorway.

"Ron?"

"It's a great idea, Harry. She'll love it."

"You did say to let you know if I thought of something."

He looked down at the small space he had created on the floor. Near the wall, something glittered at him and he picked it up. He smiled sadly and shook his head. It was the pendant he had given to Hermione on their wedding day. There had been so few occasions since then for her to have worn it. They seemed to have known only misery in the past year.

"I know I did, Harry," he finally answered, still looking at the pendant with his mother's diamond. "It's just that, well, I never seem to have anything to offer her."

Harry walked up to him and looked at the pendant before saying, "Ron, you've given her the most important thing of all, and it's the only thing she's ever wanted."

Ron looked up. Harry suddenly seemed aged as he said, "You've given her your heart, and that's all that really matters."

Hermione stood at the door of her cousin's flat. She had Flooed to The Leaky Cauldron and then made her way to the tube. On the train she realized she was getting odd looks from people for the way she was dressed and she wondered why. Other girls wore their blokes' team jerseys, after all.

She was feeling a bit out of sorts about it when she heard a teenage girl ask her boyfriend, "Who are the Chudley Cannons? I've never heard of them."

Hermione had found herself scowling in annoyance when it occurred to her that she was no longer in the Wizarding world, and of course Muggles would not know who the Cannons were. She hoped no one would notice the Snitch flying across the back of the shirt. "Stupid," she had muttered to herself. "Really stupid, Hermione."

As she rang Brenna's bell, Hermione wondered if this was a good idea, but before she could change her mind, Gilbert opened the door.

"Hermione," he said, smiling. "What a pleasant surprise. Come in."

"I'm not intruding or anything, am I?" she asked nervously.

"Not at all," he assured her. "Brenna will be happy to see you. She's in the kitchen making tea. Why don't you go on in?"

Gilbert led her to the kitchen and just inside the doorway said, "Brenna, you have company."

Brenna looked up from the kettle that she had just put on to boil, and smiled brightly when she saw Hermione. The smile faded, however, as she took in Hermione's disheveled appearance. "Hermione? Are you all right?"

Shaking her head, Hermione replied, "No, I'm really not. And I need your help."

Behind her, Gilbert said, "You know, I think I'll take a pint down the way with the lads. You ladies have a nice talk." With that, he turned away and a moment later there was the sound of the outside door as he closed it behind him.

Brenna gestured to the table and told Hermione to sit down. "Let me get the tea made, and we'll sort out your trouble," she said.

Hermione watched her cousin's self-assured movements around the kitchen as she gathered spoons, cups, a small pitcher of milk, a sugar bowl, and a plateful of biscuits. Brenna assembled the items on a tray just as the kettle boiled. Once the tea had been poured into the cups, she brought the entire tray to the table.

Taking her cup, Hermione held it in her hands and felt the warmth of the tea inside. Already she was feeling better and knew she had done the right thing in seeking out her cousin and the good advice she was sure to give.

"Now, tell me what's wrong," said Brenna.

Hermione told her everything. How she had been sick and Ron had come back, but not stayed. That she had gotten pregnant and it had seemed as though things were starting to improve with Ron, that she felt they had been so much closer. Then the miscarriage and how it seemed to be driving them back apart. She told Brenna about how she had been treating Ron, and that she could not seem to change that, how she had lost her temper that afternoon and her destruction inside the suite at Grimmauld Place. She finally finished with, "I just don't know what to do. I don't know how to bring him back to me."

Through it all, her cousin listened without saying a word. When she was done, Brenna looked at her, not with the sympathetic expression Hermione had feared, but with a look of determination. "You'll figure it out, Hermione. You and Ron were meant to be together, and while it won't be easy, you'll figure it out."

"Ron and I have never been easy," replied Hermione.

"I know. But I think, to some extent, the two of you rather thrive on that."

A brief smile flashed across Hermione's face. "Yes, in a way we do." Her expression then grew wistful again. "We've been through so much, though. How much more can we take?"

"As long as you love each other and you're willing to work at it, you can take whatever comes your way."

"You're not offering me advice," Hermione noticed.

"You don't need it." Brenna smiled. "You never did. You just needed someone to talk to so you could look at the situation in a different way. I know you, Hermione. Even though an idea may not have occurred to you yet, it's germinating in your head and waiting to break through the minute you're ready."

Hermione bit her lip and thought about it. "I think you're right. I can't see a solution any more clearly now than I could an hour ago, but I don't feel so panicked and anxious." After a moment she added, "And I don't feel so lost."

"Good," said Brenna. "I'm glad I could help." She stood to clear away the dishes, and Hermione reached out a hand to stop her.

"Here," she said pulling her wand out of her pocket. "Let me."

"I thought you couldn't do magic in front of us ordinary folk."

"You're an exception, and you know that. Besides, it's the least I can do, after all the help you've given me." Waving her wand around the kitchen, Hermione said, "Scourgify."

Brenna watched in wonder as the dishes flew to the sink and washed and dried themselves and then returned to their places in the cupboard. "No matter how many times I see you do magic, I always find it fascinating."

Hermione smiled. "It _is_ rather fascinating, isn't it?" she said. "I'm so accustomed to it now, that I sometimes forget that."

"Well, any time you want to come and clean my kitchen, please feel free," laughed Brenna.

A chuckle escaped Hermione as she replied, "I'll keep that in mind."

As she put her wand back in her pocket, Hermione felt Ron's pocket watch. She rubbed her fingers over the surface of it, and felt the engraved Quidditch players. She realized Brenna was right. They would work this out. She did not know how, and there would be no quick solutions, but for the first time in a long while, Hermione felt hopeful.

Ron had thought escaping Hermione to work on the library would be easy, as she had made it so clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. Instead, since the night she had torn apart the suite, she seemed to want to talk to Ron, though she never actually said anything. She would open her mouth, but nothing would come out and after a few minutes, she would shut it again. The suite, however, had remained clean and orderly, and Hermione was spending less and less time in bed. Ron had actually seen her reading a book a few nights previously, and he was relieved at the sign that she might be starting to feel better.

He had taken to getting up very early on Saturdays to ensure that Hermione would still be sleeping when he left to work on the library, though there were some days he knew she was only pretending. This was one of those days. Ron knew his wife was feeling hurt as he slipped out of the sitting room and shut the door as quietly as possible. Just as quietly, he entered the room next door and quickly cast a silencing charm around it.

While the library had been Harry's idea, he chose to not actually participate in its construction. He told Ron he could have one person over to help with it, but no more, and that whoever it was would not be allowed in any other part of the house. Ron had decided to ask Bill, and his oldest brother agreed. The project was taking longer than Ron would have liked, but Bill was only able to be there on Saturdays. Ron got in a bit of work some nights during the week, but it had been slow going.

Now, however, the library was almost finished. All that remained was to put everything in place and give it a good dusting as, despite Ron and Bill's best efforts, sawdust still lingered. Ron looked around the room, and saw that Winky was already hard at work on that aspect of things. The house elf was humming a happy little tune as she worked.

There was a whoosh, followed by Bill stepping into the room from the fireplace. He was dusting off some soot when a voice called across the room. "Winky thanks you to not be making a mess on the hearth. She has already been cleaning over there."

Bill and Ron grinned at each other. "Sorry, Winky," Bill called.

"Hmph!" Winky stood with her fists on her hips and glared at the brothers for a moment before turning back to the cloths that were cleaning a window. Pointing at one, she said, "You has missed a spot!" The errant cloth made haste to correct that mistake.

Seeming satisfied that everything was under control, Winky nodded her head and stated, "Winky is be coming back to check on the progress, but she has breakfast to be making for Master Harry." The house elf then popped out of the room.

"How is Harry?" Bill asked.

Ron shrugged. "He's been keeping to himself. Sometimes stops in here when I'm working in the evenings, looks around and then leaves again."

"Do you think this bothers him, our putting in this library?"

"It was his idea, Bill."

"I know, but you'd think he would be more interested in how it turns out, since he suggested it."

"I don't think he likes change," Ron replied slowly. "Remember I told you how he exploded when Hermione and I were simply painting the hallway." Bill nodded and Ron continued, somewhat brightly. "I think he's improving, though. At least he hasn't cursed anyone this time."

"Well, I suppose that's a good thing," said Bill before changing the subject. "So," he asked, "are you ready for the final touches?"

Nodding, Ron said, "I moved the book crates in here last night after Hermione went to bed. I left just enough books in the sitting room for her not to notice the rest are gone." Then he added, "I hope." Pointing to a corner in front of the larger set of shelves where two dozen small crates had been stacked, he said, "I also bought a few things that I've set over here."

Bill watched as Ron pulled some things out of boxes, and nodded. "She'll like those."

"I hope so."

After a moment, Bill said, "Ron, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"You aren't hoping that this room will be a cure for how Hermione's been feeling over the past few months, are you?"

Looking at his brother, Ron said, "No. I'm just hoping it helps. Maybe she can sort through things surrounded by her books."

"You see it as a kind of refuge for her, then?"

"Well, yeah, I guess you could put it that way. Why?"

"I just wanted to make sure you weren't pinning all your hopes on a room," said Bill, waving his wand at a broom that began to sweep sawdust into a pile. "Don't forget the corners," he told the broom, and it scurried to comply.

Ron paused in his furniture polishing and thought about what Bill had said. After a moment he replied, "I don't think I'm counting on this room to change Hermione. I know she won't be the same as she was before the miscarriage, or even as she was when we first got married, but I'm not the same either."

"Why the library?" Bill asked. "Why not just leave and find a place of your own to work through things?"

"I think…I think we need to figure it out here," said Ron slowly. "Grimmauld Place seems to be where everything went wrong, and I think we need to get it back on track here for it to really work, otherwise we always have this…this _failure_, between us."

Bill nodded. "A piece of advice, little brother: actions may often speak louder than words, but don't forget that words are the key to communication, and communication is the key to working through things in relationships."

They worked in silence while Ron considered Bill's words. "Thank you," he finally said.

"You're welcome," answered Bill. He then turned on the broom that had, indeed, swept the corners, but now was on the other side of the room and had just nudged aside a corner of the large rug that covered most of the hardwood floors. "You are _not_ sweeping that under the rug." Bowing a bit in shame, the broom moved away from the rug.

Hermione sat on the sofa scowling. The book she had been trying to read all afternoon sat abandoned on the table next to her. She had wanted to break this silence with Ron a million times since her visit to her cousin a few weeks earlier, but every time she had tried, she just could not find the words. It was like any words she might have had died on her lips the instant she opened her mouth, and she was left feeling frustrated and annoyed.

She had also noticed that Ron had seemed to make himself scarce since her tantrum in the suite. He was never there when she was, and she supposed if she had come home to find everything in such a disaster, she would be wary and angry, too.

Winky had resumed cleaning the suite, and on the occasions she had entered the sitting room when Hermione was there, the house elf had sniffed and sent such a look of defiance at her mistress that Hermione did not attempt to speak, but let Winky go about her business.

Hermione sighed. As fractured at their relationship had become, she found it amazing that Ron had forgotten. She did not want anything, in fact she had not gotten a gift for Ron, but it would have been nice if he had shown in some way that he recognized it. When she had awoken to find Ron sneaking out of the suite again, Hermione had gotten up and searched for some sign, a note or something, but she had been disappointed.

Instead, she had showered and dressed and sat in the suite trying to read. Now, every little noise that she heard, or imagined she heard, had started her heart racing, wondering if Ron was returning. No matter what, she was going to say something. It was time to move things along, and if not this day, when? Consequently, when the door finally opened, Hermione's nerves were stretched taut.

Ron walked in and stopped suddenly as his eyes met hers. There was a flare between them as they stared at each other for a moment before Hermione finally spoke.

"Where have you _been_, Ron?" She tried not to cringe as she heard how harsh her words sounded, and how like an attack Ron had probably taken them.

"Oh, talking to me now, are you?" he asked a bit acidly as he carefully shut the door behind him.

"I've been trying to talk to you for some weeks now!"

"What weeks would those be?"

"Since—" Hermione stopped abruptly, not sure how to proceed. They both knew what she had done to the suite, but admitting it aloud was a task Hermione actually felt a bit daunted by.

Ron, who had not tried to speak to her since that night suddenly seemed to have no trouble finding his voice now. "Since the day you ripped apart the suite?" he demanded.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione said, "Yes."

"Do you have any idea how long it took to clean all that up?"

"What?"

"The mess you made. It was a bloody nightmare!"

Hermione bit her lip. This was not the conversation she had envisioned having. She wanted to talk, really talk, to her husband, but here he was fixated on an event that was weeks in the past. _But still unresolved_, the little voice in her head piped up.

"I'm sorry," she finally replied in response to the little voice, as much as in response to what she had done to the suite.

"You should be," said Ron. "Your aunt's candlesticks will never be the same, you know."

"My aunt's…? _What_?" The conversation had taken an odd turn. "Wait," she said, standing up and looking at Ron incredulously. "For the past three weeks, while I've been agonizing about how to start a conversation with you, all you've been focused on is a bloody pair of _candlesticks_?"

Ron shifted his weight, as though he was not quite sure how to respond to that. She saw him bite his lip as though he was trying to keep something from her. She briefly wondered where that habit had come from before she returned to her ire about the candlesticks.

"Well?"

"Yes," said Ron heatedly.

"That's _it_?" Hermione's voice had begun to climb in pitch.

Ignoring the warning sign, Ron said, "You were very destructive, and I hope you've gotten that out of your system."

"You hope I've—" Hermione broke off. This was going nowhere, and fast. She did not want to fight with Ron, especially not tonight, but it looked like the only conversation her husband was interested in involved an argument, so she decided to give it to him.

Abruptly changing the subject, Hermione blurted out, "Do you know what today is, Ronald? _Do you?_"

For a brief second, Hermione thought she saw Ron quickly hide a grin, but she knew she must be mistaken.

"Changing the subject, are you?" he asked.

Hermione was astonished. Confronted with it directly, he still did not know. She knew she should not be surprised. After all, it was like the past year had not exactly been one to remember, but despite everything she still felt it was a momentous occasion, and Ron did not even care enough to remember.

"I can't believe you," she yelled. "I just can't believe you!"

"Well, when you think you can, I'll be in here." Ron lifted his hand and pointed his wand at the wall next to the fireplace. A doorway suddenly appeared, and he stepped through it, leaving Hermione staring behind him in disbelief.

He walked away from her. _Again_. Was this to be the pattern of their life together? Should they just give up and go their separate ways? Was it worth all the anger and hurt and pain they had suffered—inflicted on each other—for them to bother to continue to try?

Hermione was struggling with these questions and staring at the doorway when another question suddenly popped into her head. She blinked. Where had that doorway come from?

Hermione took a few steps forward until she was standing in the doorway, where she found herself staring into the most wondrous room. The two walls that ran on either side of where she stood were lined with dark wood shelves that held books. Without looking, she knew the books on them were her books; they had found a home. In the middle of the room was an antique table much like the ones in the Gryffindor common room at Hogwarts. It was the perfect table for studying, or reading, or writing. In the middle of the table rested a lamp, and around it were three chairs, none of which matched the other. All the way across the room, an overstuffed brown chair and matching ottoman invited her to sink down into it with a good book—for some reason _Hogwarts, A History_ came to mind. Next to the chair was a small table, ideal for holding a glass of pumpkin juice or a cup of tea.

Voices wafted through the room and caught her attention. A few feet from the large chair, in the other corner on the far wall was another smaller table that had two matching chairs on either side of it. The chairs were currently occupied by Ron and Harry.

"I told you, you were going to regret that," Ron said, and Hermione heard the sound of a chess piece rather violently capturing another.

Harry sighed. "If I listen to you and I win, then it isn't really me winning."

"Mate, I would never let it get that far."

Finding her voice, Hermione took another step into the room and said, "Ron? Harry?" They immediately looked at her and she saw they were both wearing big, but somewhat wary, smiles.

"Do you like it?" asked Ron, getting up from the table and walking towards her.

"Is this why you've been disappearing the last few weeks?"

"Yes," answered Ron. He stopped in front of her and searched her face. "You do like it, don't you?"

Nodding, Hermione answered, "Yes. Very much, but what made you do this?"

"It was Harry's idea. The night you made that mess in the suite, he saw how many books we, _you_, have."

Hermione looked past Ron. Harry had stood, but was lingering by the chess table. "Thank you, Harry. This is wonderful."

He nodded soberly. "I'm glad you like it. And thank you, Hermione, for sticking with me. You—and Ron—have helped me, even though it may not seem like it."

"I'm glad. Does this mean you'll be leaving Grimmauld Place now? Going out into the world?"

With a small smile, Harry replied, "I said you've helped me, not performed a miracle. Now, I'm going to leave the two of you. I think you have a lot to talk about."

After Harry left the room, Hermione looked at Ron and found him studying her. "I've been so worried about you," he said, raising a hand to gently caress her cheek. "I thought you were lost to me."

"I think I was. But I don't want to be anymore."

"I'm glad to hear it." Ron held out his hand and Hermione put hers in it. He intertwined his fingers with hers, and then led her over to the chair, where he sat and pulled her onto his lap. "And yes," he said when they were settled, "I _do_ know what today is. Happy anniversary, Hermione."

"This has been a hard year," Hermione said sadly.

"I know, and I'm so sorry for everything."

"It's my fault, Ron. If we'd just found a small flat somewhere, we wouldn't have been confronted by all these issues with Harry, and we would have just gone on being the way we were at the Burrow."

Ron looked at her questioningly. "So, if you could go back in time, you wouldn't want to try and help Harry, especially now, when he's said that we _have_ helped him, even if it is just a little?"

"Yes," Hermione answered quickly and emphatically.

"I don't believe you."

"What?"

"I don't believe you. You wouldn't be my Hermione if you didn't want to help someone, especially someone as close as Harry and hurting the way he is."

Hermione cocked her head at Ron. "Am I still your Hermione?"

The lopsided grin was all the answer she needed, and she smiled back before leaning in and kissing Ron for the first time in months. It started out as a light, questioning kiss, but Ron deepened it and soon they were lost together in the big, brown chair.

It was Ron, his long fingers still tangled in her hair, who finally pulled back and said, "I'm not sure we were finished talking."

Hermione, her face flushed, looked at her husband and said playfully, "I'm pretty sure we're finished for now." She leaned in to kiss him again, but he again pulled back.

"Something tells me this is not how we should be christening your new library."

Pouting, Hermione said, "It's been such a long time, and all you want to do now is _talk_?"

He grinned. "And everyone thinks you're the voice of reason in this marriage."

Hermione laughed. "I love you, Ron. I love you now, and tomorrow, and for always."

"I love you too, Hermione. No matter what happens, let's never lose sight of that again."

"Never," she whispered. "And I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For not putting you first in this marriage. I think I just felt that since we'd finally done it, that since we were finally married, it meant that we were…_safe_, and I forgot that we have to always work hard to keep it strong."

"I forgot that, too."

She shook her head. "I don't think you did, Ron. You were the one who didn't want to come here to begin with. You were looking out for my safety, and you always seemed to have me in mind first."

"Not always," said Ron, "or I wouldn't have left when the going got tough. It was just…"

There was a pause before Hermione asked, "What?"

"It suddenly seemed like you were choosing Harry's welfare over your own and over…_us_."

"I know that now, and I can't tell you how sorry I am. I was wrong."

Ron stroked her hair for a moment and was quiet. While she would have liked to have just lost herself in the sensation of Ron's hand on her, Hermione knew they had to keep talking until things were good between the two of them again. She did not want any more misunderstandings or confusion between them.

"What is it?" she asked quietly. "Let's talk it through and get it all behind us now, so when we get up from this chair, we can start fresh."

"I'm sorry about the baby," Ron finally replied. "And even sorrier that I didn't know how to reach you, after."

Throwing her arms around Ron's neck, she said into his ear, "I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry for losing the baby, and for shutting you out. I just…" Pulling back, Hermione looked into Ron's eyes and saw a thousand emotions pouring out of them at once, sorrow and regret among those at the very surface. "It hit me so hard," she said. "I don't know why, and then I just felt I couldn't pull myself out of this deep hole I was stuck in."

"I could have helped you. I _wanted_ to help you, but you kept pushing me away."

"I know, and I'm so, so sorry. I thought I could do it on my own. I thought I didn't need you, and then when I realized I did, I didn't know how to ask for help."

"But, Hermione, you don't have to do it on your own, anymore. You never do again. That's what _we_ are all about. I'm here to help you whenever and however you need it. You have to stop being so independent, at least with me."

She smiled gently, "I know that now," she said, brushing her hand against Ron's cheek. "I do know that. But I may need you to remind me every now and again, just like I need to remind you to pick up your socks."

Ron chuckled, and then sobered for a moment. "A moment ago, you said you were sorry for losing the baby. Please tell me you know that wasn't your fault. Gwendolyn said it just happens sometimes for no reason."

"Sometimes, Ron, even though I know there was nothing I did, I can't help but feel like maybe there was."

"There wasn't, Hermione, and I hope we'll have other children."

Hermione's face split into a grin. "Big, strapping Quidditch playing boys just like their father."

"Or sweet gentle girls, who look just like their mother."

Growing serious, Hermione asked, "What if we don't? What if that was our only chance?"

"It wasn't," Ron said fiercely. "I know it wasn't."

"But was if _was_?" she persisted.

"Then we still have each other. We will _always_ have each other."

Ron kissed her gently and then asked, "Are we good?"

"We're good."

"So, wife," he grinned, "should we celebrate this anniversary in this chair, or take the private party for two into the bedroom?"

"Well, husband, why don't we just see where it winds up?"


End file.
